Chasing Harry
by Passo
Summary: {FINISHED!} Voldemort is dead. But Tom Riddle is alive... sixteen, alone, and in Hogwarts. Now it's up to Harry to befriend his former enemy. Will they find friendship or something else? Slash
1. Alive

_to hxt lightening_

**Chasing Harry **

By Passo

**Chapter 1: Alive**

Harry Potter faced the stone gargoyle guarding Albus Dumbledore's office and uttered the password given earlier by Professor McGonagall. 

"Blood lollipops."  He wondered a little at this as he ascended the steps toward the door. Blood lollipops? Apparently, the Headmaster had morbid moments of his own.  He pushed the door open. 

"Ah, Harry…" Dumbledore adjusted his glasses. "I've been expecting you." 

Sixteen-year-old Harry sat down in front of the wide oak desk, feeling a little apprehensive.  He had a good reason to feel nervous.  Dumbledore didn't usually summon him from his classes like this unless there was a serious problem that needed his attention.  He squirmed in his seat as his eyes traveled around the room. 

His gaze landed on Fawkes who was on one of his bad days.  The poor phoenix was nearing his end again and the bird's glorious feathers were all gone now, scattered around his perch.  Fawkes squawked a little when he saw Harry.  In response, the Gryffindor gave his friend a wave and a sympathetic smile at his plight. 

"Harry, a grave matter has come into my attention.  I believe that you, as someone who had first hand experience with the person involved, have the right to know about this." Dumbledore peered at him through crescent glasses, the normally twinkling eyes clouded with worry. 

Harry was a little taken aback by the news.  What could possibly make Dumbledore this worried?  Voldemort had been vanquished forever—killed simultaneously by the combined power of Harry and his friends, Hermione and Ron.  Forming a triangle around the injured Dark Lord, they had muttered the words of the killing curse and brought an end to his year-long reign of terror over the wizarding world.  This had occurred a few months ago and now, life was just returning to normal with witches and wizards trying to put the pieces of their lives together to start anew.  No, it couldn't possibly be Voldemort. 

"What is it? Is it serious?"  Harry asked, quite worried too this time. 

Dumbledore took a deep breath. "I suggest that you hold on tight to your chair while I tell you this.  I, myself, took a while to absorb the reality after I had been told about it." 

"Harry," Dumbledore started, "Voldemort is dead. You know that perfectly well since it was you who vanquished him." 

The headmaster paused.  Harry waited with baited breath for him to continue. 

"The thing is," Dumbledore said, his tone a little hesitant, "it appears that Tom Riddle is alive and well." 

"What! That's impossible!"  Harry stood from the chair, shouting. "I killed him myself.  No one, not even Voldemort, could possibly survive the killing spell delivered triply strong." 

Dumbledore held up his hand.  "I didn't say that Voldemort survived. Tom Riddle did."  He motioned for Harry to sit down once more.  "Do you recognize the difference?" 

Harry plopped on the stuffed chair heavily.  His head was whirling with confusion.  "Headmaster, I'm afraid you'll have to explain." 

Dumbledore sighed.  "Very well.  Just remember to keep an open mind through this.  Do you remember the opening of the chamber in your second year, and Tom Riddle's diary?  You do?  Good.  Well, it turned out that when you pierced the book with the basilisk fang, it did not completely destroy the preserved memory of sixteen year-old Tom Riddle.  The magic Voldemort used was much too powerful for it to simply end like that.  At that moment, Tom Riddle's spirit escaped from the diary and rejoined the person of Voldemort, alive at that time." 

"So, you mean, he melded into Voldemort? Aren't they the same person?"  Harry's brow was still furrowed in confusion. 

"Well, yes, but not exactly.  The sixteen year-old memory did not have the same evil that the Voldemort of that time had.  They were, at that moment, two entirely different people, separated by fifty years of living and experience.  In consequence, Tom Riddle became a sort of subconscious thought—imprisoned inside Voldemort's mind and having no real body or power of his own.  Having been separate from Voldemort in spirit, he wasn't destroyed when you killed the Dark Lord.  In contrast, you set him free.  He has emerged once again into our world as a human with his own body, young, alone, and confused.  He had been wandering around Ireland for weeks before the Order was finally able to learn of his existence." 

Dumbledore chuckled with the memory.  "It had happened quite by accident.  Remus Lupin had been on one of his travels around European forests when he stumbled on the young man who was, at the time, quite incoherent with fright.  The moon was full that night.  Luckily, Remus had taken some Wolfsbane, but poor Tom didn't know that, so Remus had to chase him around 'til morning.  He didn't dare lose track of Tom Riddle." 

Harry sat in silence for a few minutes, digesting the information.  Tom Riddle was alive.  It was as if Voldemort was here once again. 

"Where is he now?" he asked Dumbledore after a while. 

"He's here, Harry.  Here in Hogwarts." 

Harry gasped in denial.  The monster was here in the school? 

Dumbledore quickly explained, seeing the boy's panicked reaction.  "You don't have to worry.  He's quite harmless.  The young Tom Riddle is very much different from the Dark Lord that you killed.  In fact, he's doing better now.  He had been painfully thin and depressed when we found him.  He was hiding and trying to survive in the forest on his own.  He's happier now and is quite content with the peace and quiet.  Due to obvious reasons, the Order has maintained that we must hide his existence from the world until an appropriate time comes, when the world is ready to accept him as he is." 

"And now is appropriate?" Harry asked in disbelief. 

"I understand your reluctance regarding the matter.  After all, your experiences with Voldemort have been more traumatic than the normal wizard or witch but, Harry," Dumbledore sighed, "Tom is only a child.  He's just your age, still inexperienced and in his way, innocent of the world.  He deserves to have a normal life, away from the dark life his other incarnation had been forced to lead.  It's the start of the school year and he has to join your year as a normal student.  The three years spent as an observer in Voldemort's head had horrified him and permanently steered him away from the dark path.  The Order has confirmed his turnaround and is willing to accept him into the ranks of humanity once more after fifty years in that musty book." 

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry stared at Dumbledore, unable to fathom why the Headmaster was informing him of Tom Riddle's existence in advance.  Why didn't he wait for Harry to find out with the rest of the school when Tom Riddle finally attends his classes? 

"I told you because I believe that you would understand, that you are mature and kind enough to accept the truth."  Dumbledore met Harry's stare. "Tom's acceptance into this world and time won't be easy.  There are wounds that would take a long time to heal and not all people are as understanding as you or your friends.  Harry, Tom needs a friend who would help him, guide him this year and the next, someone who is willing to accept him as he is, not as Voldemort." 

"And you believe that I am this person?" 

Dumbledore nodded, smiling a little for Harry's benefit. Harry thought of the irony.  Voldemort had been his mortal enemy, and now he was supposed to be his friend.  He sighed.  Of course he understood.  There really was nothing he could do otherwise. 

"When will I meet him?" Harry inquired, resigned to his fate. 

Dumbledore beamed.  "Right away.  I've already sent for him earlier.  I believe he is now on his way to my office." 

Harry grinned wryly.  "You read me like a book." 

"I am not the Headmaster for nothing."  Dumbledore chuckled. 

At that instant, the door opened, revealing a sixteen year-old boy, tall, dark-haired, and green-eyed.  He stood there before Harry and Dumbledore, clearly nervous about the meeting. 

"Hello," he greeted them quietly, meeting Harry's eyes. 

Harry stood, drinking the sight of his former enemy.  The events of what happened in the Chamber of Secrets were still sharp in his mind.  Tom Riddle was the one he had battled there, not Voldemort. He should be more wary.  Still, if Dumbledore said that he'd changed, then Harry was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

"Hi."  Harry held out his hand.  "Nice to see you again." 

"Harry."  Tom acknowledged him and they shook.  "You've grown." 

"So I have.  It's been three years."  Harry gave him a small smile.  "You haven't changed at all." 

Tom chuckled.  "It's hard to age when you're not even alive."  He looked down and surveyed his own teenager's body.  "But I'm human now.  I assume I'll grow old just like everyone else." 

"Now boys," Dumbledore interrupted, "I have arranged for a room for you, Tom.  I know that you've been sorted into Slytherin but you are not living in any of the dorms.  You shall be staying in quarters of your own, quite near Gryffindor tower so you could be closer to Harry.  During mealtimes, you shall sit with the Slytherins.  This will give you an opportunity to get to know the people in your own house as well.  Now, for your room: from the main hallway of the third floor, turn right at the first bend.  The eleventh door to the right is the room.  The password is 'mumblemumps.'  I trust that you shall be able to find your way." 

"I'll accompany you," Harry offered.  Tom nodded, smiling a bit, and the two boys exited the office. 

His eyebrows furrowing once more, Dumbledore looked at the empty space where they had stood moments ago.  It will take a lot of heart for Tom to live normally again, if he ever does. 

*** 

Harry walked alongside Tom in silence as they made their way to his private quarters.  Each boy was lost in his own thoughts: Harry of the past, and Tom of the future.  Both were more than a little anxious in each other's company, considering the disturbing history they shared. 

"Here it is."  They stopped in front of a large door.  "Mumblemumps."  Tom touched the door, feeling the grain of the wood brush against his skin as it opened. 

"Wow!" Harry exclaimed, "This isn't a room, it's a suite." 

"Yes. It's…quite large." 

Tom looked around.  The door opened to a roomy sitting room with its own fireplace furnished with comfortable-looking overstuffed chairs.  Tom walked to another door leading to the bedroom.  This was almost the size of the sitting room and had a large four-poster against one wall.  There was a big window near the bed hung with forest green drapes. They were drawn open to let the sunshine in.  Tom felt a little apprehensive as he observed the place.  He wasn't sure if he deserved all these. 

"Hey, you have a bathtub that easily fits three!"  Harry walked out form the bathroom he had inspected.  "I wonder if it has the same perks as the prefects' bathroom.  You know, with all the bubbly scented stuff they have there." 

"Harry," Tom interrupted, "I'm not sure about this." 

Harry frowned.  "What do you mean?" 

Tom slowly turned towards him.  "I mean all these…" He swept his arms around, indicating the room and all it contained.  

"I don't think I deserve all these…nice things." He sighed, bringing his arms down.  "I'll ask the Headmaster to have me relocated to another room." 

"Tom, don't be ridiculous."  Harry gripped his arm.  "You don't have to punish yourself for anything." 

"Don't I?"  Tom lifted his head and met the green eyes so much like his own.  "I don't even deserve to live." 

"Don't think that way," Harry admonished softly.  "You should be happy to be given another chance.  Not many people get that in one lifetime.  You could live life the right way, the way you want it to be.  Don't think of the past." 

They exchanged a tentative smile. 

"You're right, Harry," Tom declared, "I've been given another shot at this.  I won't blow it this time." 

"That's the spirit!"  Harry clapped his back laughing.  Feeling much more comfortable with each other, the two boys headed out to the sitting room. 

"So…" Harry stopped at the door.  "I'll see you later after dinner.  I'll introduce you to Hermione and Ron." 

"I'll be there."  Tom smiled.  "Oh, and Harry—" 

"Yes?"  About to leave, Harry looked back once more. 

"I never apologized before.  I'm sorry now.  I really am."  Tom was unmistakably sincere.  The green eyes flashed, unsure. Tom's smile wavered. 

Harry held his gaze and smiled back. "It's okay. It doesn't matter now." 

With one last wave, Harry disappeared into the corridor, shutting the door behind him.  Breathing deeply and feeling a lot lighter, Tom surveyed his quarters.  It really was a lovely suite.  He supposed he should make himself at home. 

He sat in front of the fire, thinking of Harry. They weren't friends yet. But who knows? He hadn't had a friend in a long time. 

"Friends?" Tom whispered to the air. "It's not impossible."  

The only answer he received was the crackling of the flames as he stared into their depths. 

-TBC- 

Special thanks to** LoversLie** for betaing this chapter.


	2. Quintessence of a Slytherin

**Chasing Harry **

By Passo

Chapter 2: Quintessence of a Slytherin 

"I have an announcement to make."

The buzz in the Great Hall quieted as the students who had gathered there for dinner turned their attention to the Headmaster. Dumbledore had risen from his seat and was currently looking at them with a grave expression.

Harry knew what was coming. Dumbledore was about to announce the presence of Tom Riddle to the school. He exchanged worried glances with Hermione and Ron. He already told them about Tom earlier and though the two were the most reasonable beings he knew, even they were quite horrified with the situation. Ron in particular got so angry that he threatened to storm Dumbledore's office and demand the removal of Tom from Hogwarts. Ginny's near-death experience was very hard to forget. They only calmed down a bit after Harry reminded them that Dumbledore was the finest and wisest wizard in Britain, probably even in the world. He certainly wouldn't expose the students to danger if he believed that Tom still posed a threat to their lives.

Still, Harry couldn't help wondering if this was right. He had met Tom earlier and he couldn't deny the fact that the young man had seemed tamer than before. The Tom he had met in the Chamber was a vengeful person bent on success and domination through any means. Harry still dreamt about the horror of it all sometimes. This was why he found it hard to believe that the Slytherin had done a complete turnaround. Inside, Harry still didn't trust the boy. It would take more than Dumbledore's endorsement to make him see Tom as innocent... much more a friend.

In spite of his feelings, Harry trusted Dumbledore with his life. Just for the Headmaster, he would try to make Tom's stay in Hogwarts a little easier. He turned to the teacher's table. Dumbledore was still in the middle of introducing the new student.

"...student shall join us until he graduates. Now his presence may surprise you, even scare some of you. But as your Headmaster, I trust that this school has trained you enough to keep an open mind on all things. What I am going to say to you right now involves the dead Dark Lord, Voldemort."

Several students flinched at the mention of Voldemort's name. Though the villain was dead, the war had taken its fair share of casualties--mostly friends and family members of some students.

"Here we go. Harry, get ready to hear the screams." Ron muttered with a lopsided smile and poked Harry lightly on the arm.

Dumbledore continued. "The death of the Dark Lord resulted in the birth of another. You might remember the events that happened in the Chamber of Secrets two years ago when Tom Riddle nearly came alive through a student..."

Upon hearing this, Ginny's face paled considerably. Hermione took her hand, preparing the girl for the greater shock that was about to come.

"...Tom was imprisoned inside Voldemort's mind for three years, not having a body or even the freedom to decide for himself. He merely acted as an observer--a sixteen-year-old observer aghast with all the carnage that Lord Voldemort had unleashed upon the magical world. Now, with his death, Tom Riddle has been brought back to life and is now back with us in his own body."

A couple of students fainted at this. Almost everyone paled. A silence rang through the Great Hall--a silence so loud it hurt Harry's ears. Then, suddenly, everyone started talking at once. Violent shouts and objections were heard as a number of people stood and aired their anger.

"Silence!" Dumbledore called sharply, his voice echoing around the room. The buzz slowly disappeared as the chastised students sat back into their chairs. "I need your cooperation if we are to conclude this matter in the shortest time possible."

The Headmaster paused before speaking once more. "I want all of you to remember that this boy is a different person from the scoundrel who caused so much death and destruction for so many years. He is young--as young as you--and, in his way, still unspoiled by the evils this world has to offer. He is not Voldemort! Tom is a person who deserves to live his own life as normally as possible. I need your help, all of you, in molding him into the kind of person that Hogwarts and the rest of the magical community would be proud of. Please give him a chance to prove history wrong. I trust I have made myself clear?"

Most students nodded resignedly but some were too dumb-struck or scared to respond. They couldn't help but connect Voldemort's reign of terror to the boy who he used to be. The boy who was soon going to be one of them.

"And so, I present to you... Tom Riddle."

The great doors opened and revealed the tall young man. He entered the silent hall with his head high and face devoid of expression. He kept his eyes carefully blank and made his way to Dumbledore without looking at any of the students.

"Professor," Tom greeted the Headmaster with respect.

"You shall sit among the Slytherins."

A chair magically appeared at one end of the Slytherin table--a vacant space. Tom walked to the chair and sat. Most of the Slytherins merely smirked. They shot arrogant looks at the pale faces on the Hufflepuff table near them.

This didn't surprise Harry at all. Most of the Slytherin's families were loyal to the Dark Lord in the first place. It was no wonder that Tom Riddle's presence on their table didn't frighten the. On the contrary, they were probably proud of it.

Professor Dumbledore sat and sighed in his mind. At least the introduction part was over. But there certainly would be more challenges ahead for Tom. The Headmaster raised his goblet and smiled at the students.

"Now, let's eat."

Food appeared on the table and soon, everybody started eating. At first, no one spoke but soon, the buzz of conversation started to get louder. Many were shooting hesitant looks at the Slytherin table, fearful yet curious about the new student that sat there, eating quietly on his own.

Tom placed the cut piece of steak in his mouth and chewed slowly. He really wasn't hungry but as there was nothing else to do, he supposed it was better for him to eat than sit in silence. He moved stiffly, painfully aware of the watchful glances from his fellow students. Obviously, they still didn't trust him.

"You have to relax a little."

Startled, Tom raised his eyes and met the icy blue stare of the boy next to him. Putting his fork down, he coldly stared back.

"What is it to you?"

"I meant that you don't have to be so defensive. You're too distant. I could almost feel the walls." The boy's arrogant look disappeared as he smiled easily at Tom. "Draco Malfoy."

Tom took the offered hand and returned the smile with a slight raising of his brow. "Tom Riddle."

Smirk. "So I've heard."

They shook hands, looking at each other down their respective aquiline noses, before they continued their meal. The silence was more companionable after that.

***

"Look, I promised him I'd introduce you two," Harry said apologetically.

"You and your big mouth," Ron grumbled.

The Gryffindor trio just left the common room thirty minutes after dinner and was on their way to Tom Riddle's room. It had taken Harry at least half an hour to convince Ron to come. The redheaded boy had been adamant in wanting to keep his distance from the Slytherin but Hermione dragged him along irritably, annoyed with his stubborn attitude.

"At least you'll get it over with at once. We'll just have to introduce ourselves, not make friends with him." Hermione tried to placate Ron.

"The bastard tried to kill my sister!"

"Shut up!" Harry admonished him as they neared the door.

As soon as they were in front of the entrance, the door swung open before they could even knock.

"Come in." Tom motioned them in with a formal smile.

"How did you know we were outside?" Harry asked him.

"I heard you coming," Tom answered, glancing at Ron for a moment. The redhead flushed and looked away.

They all sat on the couches in front of the roaring fire. For a few seconds no one spoke as they all looked at each other awkwardly.

"So," Harry began, "this is Hermione and Ron. Herm, Ron, you both know Tom."

Tom nodded, smiling slightly. "Nice to meet you Hermione, and Ron."

Hermione smiled softly. "It's a pleasure meeting you, too."

"Well, it's not mine," Ron snapped resentfully.

Taken aback, Tom's eyebrows rose. "May I ask why?"

"You tried to kill my sister!"

"Ah... of course. Your red hair. Ginny Weasley." Tom's eyes moved to the fire as his memories brought him back to the Chamber.

"Yes. Ginny. The girl you almost killed!"

Shooting killer looks at Ron, Harry stood frantically. "You know, Tom, we'd better be going back. Ron's really tired from all the classes today and--"

"No!" Tom turned back to them, raising his hand. "It's all right, Harry. Ron's right."

Harry sat back slowly, unsure. Tom gave him a reassuring look before turning his gaze back to a defensive Ron.

"I do have something to say about what happened."

"Nothing you say will ever change the fact that you tried to murder her just so you could live."

"Indeed." Tom stood and walked to the front of the fireplace, watching the flames. His back to them, he continued.

"What happened in the Chamber was inexcusable. I not only attempted to take Ginny's life, I also released the basilisk in my effort to kill Harry and take revenge on the destruction of my future self. I had been a stupid, ruthless son of a bitch at the time and I find it hard to forgive myself for ever letting it happen."

He faced them again, his face impassive but his voice painting a different story.

"It was driving me crazy. Fifty years alone in that diary with just myself to communicate with. I was forever sixteen and imprisoned within while my other self continued living. Of course..." He chuckled bitterly. "I was just a memory in reserve for emergency purposes."

"I was so desperate to get out that I would have done anything... anything in the world if there was a way for me to be released from my prison. When Ginny appeared, she gave me hope--hope that through her I might be able to live again. I didn't even consider her life. I just wanted to get out like that genie in the lamp. Free myself and take revenge on everyone I believed had wronged me."

Tom sighed. The lonely sound swirled in the room.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I'm sorry for hurting your sister. I know that now. I couldn't stomach the horror I've seen during the war. And I cannot believe that I nearly caused the same pain."

Ron stared at Tom, meeting the Slytherin's green eyes. Eyes so much like Harry that it was rather spooky to see them in the face of a stranger.

"I can't forget that easily," he said softly, looking down at the floor. "She can't forget."

"I only want the chance to apologize for what I have done." Tom walked closer to Ron and touched his shoulder. "I ask permission to ask for her forgiveness."

The seconds stretched. Finally, Ron spoke. "You should ask her."

He raised his blue eyes to Tom, but they were no longer hostile. There was a long way to go before he could be friendly to the Slytherin but at least, he no longer wanted to kill him.

"I will."

A bit shakily, Harry stood. The past few minutes had been intense. The tension in the room was stretched so tight that he had been afraid to speak, fearing it might snap. Undoubtedly, Hermione felt the same way, judging from the way she let her breath out in a rush.

"So, Tom... It's getting late. We all need to rest for tomorrow, especially you." Harry walked near him, touching his arm a bit.

Tom's eyes lit up. "Yes, I'll have my first classes tomorrow."

"Good luck, then." Harry smiled. "Good night."

Harry herded a silent Hermione and a subdued Ron out of Tom's quarters back to Gryffindor Tower. As he and Ron walked up to their room, he couldn't help commenting about the evening.

"That was a close call."

"Yeah," Ron answered. He turned to Harry with a slightly quizzical expression. "But, you know, if he's really sorry about Ginny, then I guess he couldn't be so bad."

"Hmmm... maybe."

"Of course, that doesn't mean I totally forgive him. He has miles to go before that happens. I'm just saying that maybe there's a chance for him to redeem himself." Ron declared.

Amused, Harry tapped his friend's back. "Of course, Ron. I understand."

***

After breakfast, Tom made his way to the Transfiguration classroom. It would be quite weird for him to start studying again. It was so long ago since he was last in school. After being locked inanimate for more than fifty years, he was eager to start practicing magic again.

As he walked, the groups of students in the hall gave him a wide berth. They stared at him through wide eyes, still scared that he might suddenly give them the killing curse. Generally, it made Tom uncomfortable but he couldn't help but feel slightly pleased with the intimidation. Oh well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about hall traffic to make him late.

"Tom! Tom Riddle!"

Tom turned to see a boy with slicked-back blond hair hurry towards him.

"Hello," Draco Malfoy nodded affably, adjusting his speed as he walked by Tom's side.

Tom raised one ironic brow. "I'm impressed with your nerve. Why aren't you sticking to the sidelines like the others?" He gestured towards the other students keeping to the walls.

"Malfoys never take the sidelines. Besides, we Slytherins have to stick together." He glanced at Tom from the corner of his eye, his lips lifting slightly.

"I see." Tom merely nodded, looking at Draco. Slytherins weren't known for showing open affection but they had their own language. In those few moments, they had reached an agreement between themselves.

Draco looked down at Tom's left hand. 'You have a new wand."

"Yes. Ten inches, unicorn hair, oak. Isn't it a beauty?" He waved it around proudly, producing a few sparks. A few Hufflepuffs walking nearby gasped and jumped farther away.

Tom met Draco's eyes before the two of them broke into laughter. They arrived in the Transfiguration classroom a few minutes early still wheezing a little from the hallway episode.

Draco grinned. "I think I'm going to like you, Tom."

Green eyes twitched in amusement. "Likewise."

They took their seats in front of the classroom under Professor McGonagall's apprehensive eye. As the other students spilled into the room, Draco leaned over towards Tom and whispered.

"Perhaps I should warn you... we're having this class with Hufflepuffs."

They laughed again before they were silenced by a stern look from the Professor.

"Uh-hrrm... Sorry," Draco muttered.

When the Professor turned her back on them, Tom couldn't resist giving a Hufflepuff across the aisle a pointed glance. The poor boy whimpered making Draco snort even louder. The blond quickly tried to disguise it as a cough before Professor McGonagall had the chance to reprimand him again.

"He couldn't take a joke," Tom quipped, loud enough for only Draco to hear.

The blond sniggered before replying. "You are going to love Potions."

-TBC-

Note: Thanks to Sarah and Djay, my new beta readers. *hugs*


	3. Impressions

**Chasing Harry **

By Passo

**Chapter Three: Impressions **

A tall, dark man rushed into the room, doors slamming behind him. 

"Tom Riddle is alive." 

"I know." The one who answered stopped pacing around his study and faced the new arrival. "My son told me." 

"I see." This man was bulkier, and wider. His dark hair was cut short and curled at the back of his neck, just over the collar of his mahogany robe. 

"Why haven't you informed us earlier?" 

"I just received the news yesterday." 

The visitor glanced at him sharply, shrewd brown eyes scrutinizing his host's face. "I got the impression your son is already quite… chummy with him." 

"I wouldn't know," the blond answered coldly. "He didn't divulge the extent of their companionship. What does this have to do with us?" 

"Why, Lucius! This has everything to do with us." 

*** 

"Harry." 

Harry Potter looked up from his Potions textbook and met a pair of vivid green eyes. 

"Tom?" 

The Slytherin gave him a short smile. "I was wondering if I could talk to you for a while." 

"Well, sure." Harry glanced at the librarian's desk where Madame Pince was sitting, looking sharply at them. She pointedly gestured to a sign overhead that simply said: Silence Please. 

Tom caught the signal and angled his head to the exit. "Maybe we should continue this outside." 

Harry followed him to the hallway. When they got there, the passage was empty as most students were either in their classes or in the dormitories. 

"I heard you've been hanging out with Malfoy," Harry blurted out unexpectedly. His face coloured instantly, embarrassed with his outburst. 

Tom's face first registered surprise but he had the grace to look contrite in a second. "I'm sorry. I know I should be spending the time with you. Dumbledore told me—" 

"No!" Harry interrupted. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I shouldn't have phrased it that way." 

He breathed deeply and looked back at Tom. "What I meant was that I'm happy for you. I'm glad you've found friends from your own House." 

Tom smiled. "We do hang out together sometimes. Although two of his other friends don't seem to speak much aside from occasional grunts and nods." 

"Ah, yes. Crabbe and Goyle." Harry nodded sagely. "They aren't known for their communication skills. Was that what you wanted to tell me?" 

"Oh no. To be honest, I want to ask for your help." 

"My help in particular?" Harry's eyebrow rose. 

"Yes. It would be quite useless to ask someone else." Tom shrugged and looked around. "But if you're busy…" 

"I'd be glad to help you. What is it about?" 

"Ginny." 

"Ginny?" 

"I know I promised Ron I'd talk to her but I can't seem to be able to do it. Not that I haven't tried. But every time I get within twenty meters of her in the halls she runs to the opposite direction. And I don't see her much during meals." Tom gestured helplessly. "I really want to get this over with." 

Harry's brow furrowed. He was not aware that Ginny had been avoiding Tom this much. "Gosh, Tom… I don't know what to say. You really hurt her that year. She almost died." 

"I know. I know that and I'm sorry it all happened. I'd take it back if I could." He ran his hand tensely over his dark hair. "God! You cannot imagine the things I've had to see to realize that… But she wouldn't let me come near her. I would never hurt her. You know that, Harry." 

Harry kept silent for a moment. _No, I don't know that. I don't even know you that well, Tom. Oh stop being so suspicious, Harry! He might be really sincere about all this_. He set aside his doubts and looked back at Tom. 

"I'll tell you what… I'll help you meet up with her but I won't help you with the apology. You have to explain that to her yourself." 

"I'm very sure I can handle that on my own." 

"Well, that's settled then." Harry glanced at his watch. "I'll be having class soon. I'll talk to her this afternoon and just drop you a message when she agrees to see you." 

The green eyes brightened. "Thank you, Harry. You won't regret it." 

They separated soon after. Harry walked to the Potions classroom, clutching his book bag tightly. He couldn't help but think back on the conversation, particularly the part about Draco Malfoy. 

_Why did I even ask that_? What did it matter if Tom was friendly to his archenemy? Actually, it would've been ironically apt: the younger self of Voldemort and Draco Malfoy together against Harry Potter. But, although Draco would probably be happy to oblige, Tom would never do that. _Or would he?_

He should be glad that Tom has found a friend amongst all the other students who shook in their boots just because he happened to walk near them. Tom needed someone who understood. Even if it was Draco Malfoy. 

He thought about Dumbledore and his plan to cultivate a close friendship between Harry and Tom. Well, too bad for him because for once, the Headmaster seemed to have made a mistake in his choice. Before their library conversation, Harry had last seen Tom the night he met Ron, and that was almost a week ago. The past six days, Tom had been quite happy to spend his time with Draco and the other Slytherins. Well, Harry, you can't force a friendship where it's not wanted. 

Maybe they would never be close, but it would be nice if they could at least be casual friends and put the horrors of the past behind them. This thing with Ginny could serve as a beginning. With that, Harry shoved all thoughts of Tom aside as he entered the Dungeons. 

*** 

"I don't want to see him!" 

"Ginny, he just wants to apologize." Harry touched her shoulder comfortingly. He didn't expect this to be easy. 

"He has nothing to say to me nor I to him. Harry! How can you even stand to stay near him? He's a monster!" She sobbed and flung her Gryffindor scarf to her bed as she sat down heavily. "I cannot face him." 

"He's not a monster." Harry sat beside her and took her hand, trying to soothe his agitated friend. "Gin, I know this is really hard for you but please, I want you to reconsider. He won't harm you. It wouldn't hurt for you to hear his side." 

"Nothing he says will ever make me forget. He nearly killed me, after making me believe for months that he was my friend! He almost even made me murder all those Muggle-borns! How could you ask me to do this?" 

"Because I'm sick of hatred." Harry stood and turned to the window and sighed as he stared at the Forbidden Forest outside. "I've had enough of it all my life. I just want things to be over so we can all get on with our lives." 

"We need to move on." He looked back at her. "Please, Ginny? Just listen to him. You don't have to accept him if you don't want to." 

After a long, tense silence, she nodded curtly. "I'm doing this for you, Harry. But I'm not promising anything." 

He exhaled, relieved. "Thank you." 

*** 

Tom Riddle walked to the arranged meeting place. He was feeling apprehensive. This was strange for him. He didn't usually feel nervous, unless faced with something particularly dangerous. 

Harry was waiting outside a classroom. He nodded to the approaching Slytherin. 

"She's inside. I'll stay here outside while you talk." 

"You won't regret this, Harry." Tom reached for the knob when Harry suddenly grabbed his wrist. 

"She's still scared. Be gentle." 

Green stared into green. "I will. Promise." 

Harry released him and watched him walk inside the classroom, not without misgivings. As much as he wanted Tom and Ginny to set things straight between themselves, he couldn't help but feel uneasy about subjecting her to Tom's presence. She was more than a friend and a housemate. As a close friend of the Weasleys, Harry had come to love Ginny as one would a sister. He hated to see her upset. 

After fifteen minutes, Harry paused from his rhythmic pacing and stared at the shut door. _What's taking them so long? Is she all right? Is he all right? Why am I even concerned about him? _

Half an hour later, Harry felt like he'd go mad with worry. They were still inside and he had absolutely no idea what to do. He had thought about leaving but hesitated, thinking that it would be better if he stayed and waited it out so he could help Ginny if ever she freaks out. But as much as he wanted to protect her, he really hated waiting outside like this—not knowing whether everything was all right inside. Part of him wanted to listen in to the conversation but he forced himself to resist the temptation. They had the right to their privacy. 

Just when he thought he'd go crazy from impatience, the door opened and Ginny walked out. Harry rushed to her side. 

"So, how did it go?" 

She smiled faintly and shrugged. "Okay, I think. But I'd better get back to the dorms. See you later, Harry." 

With that, she walked away briskly, leaving a gaping Harry behind her. 

"She wouldn't tell you?" 

Harry looked behind him and saw Tom lounging in the doorway. "No. She just left. She said it went okay." 

Tom nodded. "It did." 

"That's it? After almost an hour of talking?" 

"Well, I think I'm almost forgiven. Almost, but not quite." He walked over to Harry in the middle of the hall. "You're friend Ginny is not as soft as you think. She can be very… surprising." 

"So you won't tell me anything, either?" 

"The details could wait. You'll know in time." 

They stood there for a moment, not moving. Harry wondered if this was his cue to say good night and leave when Tom spoke first. 

"Harry, would you accompany me for a walk?" 

"A walk? At this hour?" 

"We still have half an hour before curfew. And besides, there are ways of getting back to the dorms without being caught by Filch. I still remember a few tricks from fifty years ago." 

Harry laughed. "All right then. Lead the way." 

They left the building and headed for the field near the Quidditch pitch. The moon was full, and all the stars were out, casting a glow on the grassthat served as adequate lighting for their walk. 

Harry looked up. "I hope Remus had some Wolfsbane ready." 

Tom chuckled and put his hands in his pocket. "I remember that day when he found me. Man, I was terrified!" 

Harry grinned. "He wouldn't hurt you. He was rational at the time." 

"Yeah, well, I wish I knew that. But when it's in the middle of the night and there's suddenly a werewolf chasing you around, you wouldn't really think that he's harmless." 

"What happened that night?" 

"I climbed a tree and waited. Naturally, morning came and I had a ball screaming at him for scaring me. But we're okay now. He brought me here to Dumbledore." 

"When you got out of Lord Volde—" 

"I really don't want to talk about it yet," Tom interrupted curtly. He touched Harry's arm, stopping the other boy. "I didn't mean to offend you. But it was a screwy time. To be honest, I think I buried it all underneath. I… I don't remember much of what happened when you killed him… or me. Is there even a difference?" 

"There is," Harry said firmly. "He was evil, Tom." 

"And I'm not," Tom finished softly. He suddenly felt the need to know. "Are you really that willing to trust me, Harry?" 

Harry took a deep breath. "I'm willing to take the risk. I trust you, Tom. I'm not sure why but I know that you're not, and will never be, Voldemort." 

The honesty of those words was undeniable, and Tom felt a strange, warm feeling come over him—the kind of feeling he never thought he'd associate to Harry Potter when he was still inside the diary, hating him and biding his time. 

"Then I shall take care to never break that trust." 

He let go of Harry's arm. They walked in comfortable silence for a while, soaking in the peace. Harry had quite forgotten about curfew as he strolled on the grass, hearing the breeze, crickets, and the sound of Tom's breathing. He had taken another step to acceptance. 

"Tom, can I ask you something? It's quite private. But you could decide not to answer." 

"It's okay. What is it about?" 

"Your name." Harry snuck a look at Tom and continued. "In the Chamber, you told me you hated your father. Why did you decide to keep the name now? I mean, it would've been easier to live under another name. That way, no one would trouble you about your past. You could start fresh." 

Tom furrowed his brow. "I thought about that. In fact, Professor Dumbledore himself suggested it. But, I decided not to. You see, Harry, my past is part of me. Lord Voldemort changed his name to become someone else. He wanted to forget about his muggle heritage so he can be a proper overlord to the magical world without the taint of his past. And look where he ended up… dead and buried with no one but filth to cry for him. I don't want to become him." 

Harry kept silent, feeling that there was more coming. 

"I'm not proud of my father. I still hate him with all my heart. Lord Voldemort killed him when he got out of school. If my father were still alive today, I wouldn't have done the same. I cannot and will not deny who I am, Harry, no matter how painful it is. I am Tom Marvolo Riddle. I have accepted that, and they just have to accept me for who I am." 

Tom ended impassioned speech, breathing harshly. He had not meant to say so much. To his surprise, Harry took his hand and gave it a little squeeze before releasing it. 

"I understand, Tom. Come, let's walk to the Quidditch pitch. Have you seen it lately?" 

"No. But I'd like to see it." 

As they entered the pitch, Harry wondered at Tom Marvolo Riddle. He had been through so much, yet here he was, willing to move on bravely. Maybe he'll even get to be the great wizard Lord Voldemort could have been, if he hadn't been so bent on selfish power. Harry glanced at Tom's profile, at the broad forehead and the stubborn chin—very Slytherin. He looked so strong, so… determined. He had no doubt Tom would eventually realize his dreams, and exorcise the ghost of Voldemort from his life. 

"They raised the bleachers!" 

Harry turned, distracted. "Excuse me?" 

"The bleachers. They didn't used to be this high." Like an excited child, Tom swung over the fence and hopped into the bleachers, his long legs bringing him higher. "This is great! We'll be able to watch Quidditch even better." 

Harry followed him, enjoying his reaction. "Do you play Quidditch?" 

"Not really. I mean, I do the occasional backyard flying but I'm not much good at it. I like watching a lot better." 

"Oh, good. Then you might like to watch one of our games when the season starts." 

"Of course. I heard from Draco that you're quite a good Seeker." 

"Malfoy said that?" Harry asked disbelievingly. 

"Well, not exactly. But he said he'd had a devil of a time trying to steal the snitch before you get your dirty Gryffindork paws near it," Tom answered mischievously. 

"Sounds like him, all right." 

"I have great respect for your skills as a Seeker, Harry. But don't be offended if I boo you once or twice during a game. I do have some Slytherin pride left." Tom grinned. 

"I would be disappointed if you don't." Harry smiled back. 

"Hey, you know what's great… if they add another layer over here to balance this side." Tom flung his arm to the side and accidentally hit it on one of the wooden beams. 

"Ouch!" he gasped and clutched his wrist, glaring at the aberrant beam. "Nasty bugger." 

"Here, let me take a look at that." 

Harry took his arm, lifted the sleeve and examined the injured area. There was a splinter buried deep into Tom's outer wrist. 

"I'm going to take this out but please try not to yell. It's going to hurt a little." 

"Hah! Yell? Me? Over this tiny, little… Ouch! Not so hard!" 

"I told you it would hurt," Harry said matter-of-factly. 

The splinter turned out to be larger than he thought and the small wound started to bleed. Tom just stood there, frozen, staring at the blood. 

"I… I haven't bled in more than fifty years," he said with wonder, looking as a bead of red streaked down and dropped into his robe. 

"We better stop the bleeding." 

Stunned, Tom could only watch as Harry suddenly took his wrist and raised it to his lips closed his mouth over the wound. An electric thrill ran through him as Harry sucked at his skin. He felt a hot, wet tongue touch the surface and he nearly fell from the bleachers in shock. 

"Here, Tom. I better wrap this up so it won't bleed." Harry lowered his wrist and wrapped a white handkerchief around it. 

It was over all too soon. Tom had not yet recovered over the sucking incident. 

"What was that?" 

"What?" Harry raised innocent green eyes to meet his. 

"That thing you just did… with your mouth…" Tom's lips twitched awkwardly as he remembered the weird sensation of Harry's mouth on his skin. Suddenly, Harry didn't look as meek and uninteresting as he used to. 

"Oh, I'm not entirely sure what it's for but I saw Hermione do the same thing when Ron got wounded. I suppose it's to control the bleeding." 

Harry knotted the handkerchief and patted it lightly. "There, you're fine now." 

"I'm fine now," Tom echoed. Control the bleeding? But it was just a drop! And why was he even obsessing over such a trifle? 

Harry glanced at his watch. "Look at the time! It's nearly midnight. I think we ought to get back, Tom." 

"Oh. Okay." Tom swallowed and jumped to the grass. "Let's go." 

They hurried back to the castle in silence, Tom still bothered about Harry's first aid methods while the Gryffindor thought about Tom's revelations. They entered the castle door and almost immediately encountered a prefect, much to Harry's chagrin. 

"Ernie!" Harry exclaimed. "We were… we were just…" 

"We were walking," Tom continued haughtily, smiling coldly at the prefect. Astonished, Harry looked at him. Where was the friendly Tom he was with earlier? 

Smiling weakly, Ernie MacMillan waved them off without even saying anything. When they got to the staircase, well away from being overheard, Harry frowned at Tom. 

"You didn't have to be so mean." 

Two dark brows rose innocently. "I was mean?" 

"I think you were perfectly aware of what you were doing. What was that for? He would have let us go if I explained to him that…" 

"You were stammering, not explaining. Besides, he practically quaked when he saw me. I hate that." Tom scowled. 

"Ah! Now I get it. You're legendary meanness to lesser beings is merely a defensive mechanism to people who you feel do not accept you for who you are." 

"Don't you dare psychoanalyze me at this time of night. Besides, he was probably trying to hide something. Why the hell was he roaming around alone at midnight?" Tom punched Harry good-naturedly as they neared Gryffindor Tower. "Well, here's my door. Good night, Harry." 

"Good night, Tom." Harry was about to say the password when he thought of something and turned around. "Wait! Tom?" 

"Yes?" Tom hesitated on the open door. 

"Tomorrow is a Hogsmeade weekend. I was wondering if you might like to come with us. You know, visit the shops together…" 

"Oh." Tom bit his lip uncomfortably. "I would be glad to, Harry. Honestly. But I sort of promised Draco that we'd hang out tomorrow." 

"I see. That's okay. I understand." Disappointed, Harry faced the portrait. 

"Maybe next time, then?" Tom asked hopefully. 

"Okay. Next time." They grinned and entered their respective apartments. 

*** 

It was a lovely Saturday morning. Normally, Draco would have been having a delicious supper at the Great Hall by this time but his plans were ruined by the arrival of Lucius Malfoy an hour ago. Not that he hated his father's visits. In fact, he rather looked forward to them as he usually missed his family and the manor if he stayed away too long. It was the real purpose of the visit that annoyed him. 

"Father, don't try to fool me. You're not here to deliver Mom's newest package. You could have sent that easily through owl post." 

Lucius started and frowned at his son. "Why, Draco… do you doubt me?" 

"Under these circumstances, yes, I do." He linked his hands together, placing them on the table. "It's the busiest time of the year for you. I know you hate having your work routine disturbed and it's quite suspicious of you to suddenly show up here in Hogwarts just to wish me a good day." 

Lucius sighed. He never had a reason to lie to his son before. He should have known Draco would see through him instantly. 

"It's about Tom. Tom Riddle." 

Draco's eyes widened. "What about Tom Riddle?" 

Lucius shook his head. "I can't tell you why right now. Although I may need to later. Things are going to be very dangerous for him." 

"No, Father. I won't let them." Ice-blue eyes steeled. "I won't let you." 

"Do you think I'm here to hurt you, my son? I merely meant to warn you." 

"Then you're warning me against yourself." 

"Not necessarily." Lucius flicked an errant lock of platinum hair from his forehead and faced his son, his blue-grey eyes worried. "It's worse, Draco. They want you involved." 

The boy's eyes flickered. "So that's how it's going to be." 

The two Malfoys sat quietly for a long time, fully understanding the implication of those words. The war, clearly, was not yet over. 

-TBC-


	4. Doppelganger

**Chasing Harry **

By Passo

**Chapter Four: Doppelganger **

"Draco, you haven't been listening." Exasperated, Tom poked Draco on the ribs. 

Startled, the blond Slytherin raised his eyes to Tom's and smiled sheepishly. They were browsing among the more unusual sweets in Honeydukes and for the past three minutes, Tom had been trying to convince him to buy at least one small bag of spider-crunchies by enumerating its various assets.  

Draco sighed. "I'm sorry I'm not a lot of fun today. It's just that I had a visit from my father this morning." 

"Oh." Tom's smile disappeared and was replaced by a troubled look. His brow furrowed slightly. "Lucius." 

"Do you…" Somehow, Draco found this difficult to ask. "Do you remember him? When he was…when you were…" 

"I know who your father is," Tom said tersely, his mouth tightening. 

His expression was shuttered, and Draco sensed a sudden chill from him. The green eyes were cold, blank, and guarded, and for a split second, the blond sensed something dangerous lurking beneath Tom's normally calm demeanor. He shivered inside, realizing that he had glimpsed a side of Tom he had never seen before. With him, Tom was usually more open, not as distant as he was with other students. But at that moment, Draco realized that there may be more to the him than he had assumed. 

Just then, Tom's expression relaxed. He blinked, giving Draco a small smile. 

"I'm sorry. I just remembered something." He nodded apologetically to Draco, shaking his head. 

"Look, I know that father may have done some things that—" 

"No," Tom stopped him once more. "It wasn't your father. Forget about it. I was just… distracted." 

The dark-haired Slytherin cleared his throat and turned back to the jar of sweets he was still holding. Draco looked down and noticed that the other boy's knuckles were white. He was holding the jar so tightly that it seemed it would break with more pressure. Draco took it from him, gently peeling Tom's fingers from his death grip on the glass. 

"Tom, do you want to talk about it?" 

Tom didn't look up, he continued to stare at the jar Draco had taken from him, as if he could find the answers there. "I would rather not." 

Draco nodded silently. He would have to wait until his friend opened up. He knew that there was something more to this Voldemort business, something that troubled Tom so much that he continued to hide it, even from himself. He wondered about what Tom had seen in those three years, all those days in the Dark Lord's mind. Then he remembered what Lucius had told him earlier. Tom may need all the help he could get. Maybe, just maybe, Draco could do something about it. 

*** 

Back in Hogwarts, Tom shut the door to his room and almost collapsed against it. He had been kidding himself. 

Slowly, he walked to his armchair and sat down heavily, the light and false gaiety gone from his form. For the rest of the day, he had tried to remain cheerful for Draco and his housemates but his friend's mention of Lucius had brought back memories he would rather forget. 

He squinted and rubbed his hands over his face, trying to shut out the unbidden visions of blood and gore that still troubled his dreams at night, but managed to block out for most of the day. In his mind, he saw them again: the desperate men and women who screamed, begging for their lives at the last moment, while the Dark Lord laughed and mocked their pleas. Their shrieks of pain at the overwhelming torture they had been forced to endure had been too much for the young Tom. He had been screaming himself—shouting for it all to stop, to stop the madness that he never thought he would've been able endure—while his other self merely ignored his entreaties. After all, he was just a voice with no real power. An unimportant  nuisance to the Overlord who was Voldemort. 

He suddenly felt angry. Angry with himself for ever being so stupid that he thought he could consume the world with his hate. The flames in the fireplace rose dangerously to match his fury as he clutched at the wooden armrest so tightly that he felt his fingers ache with the pressure. He let himself feel it all: his rage with himself, with the Dark Lord, with the other Death Eaters, with his mother for dying and leaving him alone, with his father and all the other people who had failed him and made him who he was. When the lights started to fluctuate erratically, with the chandelier swinging noisily overhead, Tom started, realizing what he had just done. 

He forced himself to calm down and shut out the anger. His breath slowed and steadied and the lights brightened once again. He never should've lost his temper like that. He had forgotten how easy it was for him to wreck things with his magic, even without a wand. He sighed, leaning back on his chair.   

He had thought he would be able to turn away from all that while he started anew in Hogwarts. He had a new life, new friends, and a new future. Dumbledore was his guardian and protector. Gads! He even befriended Harry Potter! He had convinced himself that his past was merely a nightmare that was meant to be forgotten. But it seemed that he could never really run away. Like his previous tenure in this school, he was still wearing a mask. 

It hadn't always been bad. Sometime in his life, he must have been loved. He remembered feeling something like happiness a long time ago. He was a very young boy—hardly more than a babe—and his mother had thrown him in the air, her lilting laugh music to his ears. The sun had been shining, and he remembered looking up, seeing the sky as bright as his life, before she finally caught him in her arms once more. Nothing had ever matched that high afterwards. Not long after that, she had died, and it all went downhill from there. He was thrown from one orphanage to another, rejected by his own father and labeled as a freak. He was never the Riddle family' s son—just a dirty secret meant to be locked away from the public's eye. But aside from losing his mother, the only person he ever cared about, Tom never really minded. He had been, and still was, a very strong wizard. His discovery of his magical abilities compensated for the loneliness, and he never wished for a family again. Upon entering school, he had forged a path that would allow him to prove his worth to this hateful world. And then he had been locked in the diary, spending fifty years in a limbo of anger and helplessness. 

Somehow, from that one shining moment to this, he had lost himself. 

Tom pushed the memories from his mind. This wasn't a time for regrets. He had promised himself more than fifty years ago that he would never look back, and he never intended to again. For a moment, he had allowed himself to be weak. But it was over. There were more important things to think about. Like a practiced machine, his mind switched to the cold logic he was more used to. 

Lucius had come to the school. 

He remembered the elder Malfoy, blond, proud, and as enigmatic as his son, standing beside the Dark Lord and obeying his orders no matter how gruesome they were. The man almost never spoke, except to object to something once in a while. But when he did, the other Death Eaters listened, for he never said anything stupid, unlike that stupid asshole Avery who obeyed only out of fear. What chilled him was the blank expression on Lucius' face whenever they did something particularly brutal. Even Voldemort didn't completely know what went inside the blond Death Eater's head most of the time. He just appreciated the other's power and his loyalty to Voldemort's cause. 

He wracked his brain. He seemed to be missing something. Something about Lucius, and Voldemort. He didn't remember everything that happened in those three years. It had been a circus of horror that mostly made itself felt through his dreams—when he was most vulnerable at sleep. 

Tom thought of Draco and the young Slytherin's relationship with his father. If Draco had managed to grow up decently enough, maybe there was something more to Lucius Malfoy than the cold beast he had categorized him to. But what did his visit this morning mean? Lucius was not one to do things without a purpose. He decided that, for himself as well as his new friend, he had to find out more about this. 

*** 

Tom hurriedly dashed out his door, and immediately ran into Harry who was just about to knock. The Gryffindor stumbled awkwardly while an embarrassed Tom quickly apologized. 

"Did you feel the that weird thing that happened earlier?" Harry asked, his green eyes wide. 

"What thing?" 

"There was a powerful surge of magic that shook the whole school. I was in Professor Dumbledore's office a few minutes ago when the lights just started to go crazy. The furniture shook a bit and freaked a lot of people out. It was like a Muggle power surge in the electrical lines, only more peculiar." 

Guiltily, Tom thought about his emotional flare-up earlier. He had not realized that he had affected the whole building. "Um, I was thinking so I didn't really notice. By the way," he quickly changed the subject, "what were you about to tell me?" 

"Professor Dumbledore asked me to send for you," Harry answered matter-of-factly. He didn't seem to find anything odd with Tom's response. "He's in his office, waiting." 

"All right. I'll go at once." Tom waved goodbye to Harry while he hurried to the Headmasters' office, feeling quite apprehensive with what the old wizard had to say.    

Harry watched Tom's back as the boy ran, his robes flaring behind him. Harry turned to the door and shook his head, amused. Tom had forgotten to close it. He reached for the knob and was about to shut the door when he noticed something strange. Tom had left the fire burning. That itself was all right but it was what surrounded it that disturbed him. A large area of the stones that framed the fireplace, even the corner of the carpet near the chairs, was burned black and stained with soot. 

He frowned, sure that Tom wouldn't have been so careless to leave the fire burning dangerously strong. But it did seem normal now. In fact, it was a little weak, as there was little firewood left to fuel it. Deciding to leave the matter alone and respect Tom's privacy, Harry shut the door and walked to Gryffindor Tower. 

There was a spring in his step as he approached the Fat Lady's portrait. Dumbledore had given him wonderful news and he couldn't wait to tell Hermione and Ron about it. He entered the portrait door, smiling at some of his housemates he met on the way. The students were still talking about the unusual magical upsurge and were formulating the funniest reasons as to its origins. As much as Harry would have loved to join the discussion, he had some news to deliver. He approached his two closest friends who were busily conferring on one of the couches in one corner. Harry touched their shoulders, getting their attention. 

"Guess what?" He asked excitedly. 

Ron met Hermione's eye and grinned. "What is it Harry?" the redhead asked dryly, enjoying Harry's enthusiasm. 

"Sirius' release was finalized just today!" Harry burst out, grinning from ear to ear. 

The three friends hugged exuberantly with the good news and Ron even whooped loudly, earning him a few odd surprised looks from their housemates. In reality, Sirius had been free for months now, ever since he had started to fight alongside Dumbledore against Voldemort after Wormtail had been exposed. He had received acceptance from the wizarding world for his bravery and loyalty all these years. Still, it had taken the Ministry, under new leadership, ages to settle all the paperwork that had to be done after Voldemort's demise. Apparently, the late Cornelius Fudge (he had been one of the Dark Lord's many victims) had left an appalling amount of work unfinished. That was why Sirius' release papers were just formally signed and announced to the public just this morning. 

"This is great news!" Hermione gushed. "Now Sirius would be able to live without worrying about Dementors running after them anymore." 

"Yes," Harry agreed. "And you know what else is brewing… the Daily Prophet just offered to do a special segment about him. You know, about his side of the fight, and how he managed to stay sane and all through these years. The whole treatment." 

"Well he deserves it and more," Hermione huffed. "If they would just think about how they treated poor Sirius when he was still a fugitive… it's really the least they could do." 

"That and all the awards they reaped on him after the war," Ron added. Sirius had received many commendations and had even been awarded the highest honor a wizard could ever achieve: Order of Merlin, First Class. 

"Well, at least he's happy now." Harry smiled gently, thinking of his godfather. He loved his Sirius like he imagined he would a father, if James were alive. Sirius' devotion to Harry had been absolute even during the most trying times, and the young Gryffindor never forgot that. 

"You know, I think we should go visit them now," Harry suddenly suggested. 

"Who?" Hermione raised her brows. 

"Sirius. And I think Remus is in town so they'll probably be at the house. It's a weekend and it's early enough. We could get back in time for dinner if we hurry." 

"We'll show up unannounced?" Hermione exclaimed. 

"Even better!" Ron grinned. "It'll be some celebration. Harry will buy the booze, after all, he suggested it." 

Laughing arm in arm, the trio left the Tower. 

*** 

Seen from above, the black Jaguar was out of place. It was the only moving black spot in the almost deserted expanse of green fields and trees. On the wheel, Lucius Malfoy smiled as he heightened the speed. As a Pureblood and a Slytherin, he had all the contempt for Muggles and their tasteless little gadgets that they use to improve their pathetic, unimportant lives. Except for cars. Lucius loved them big, fast, and expensive. While driving on a deserted country road, allowing him to go as fast as he wanted with his roaring engine, he found the exhilaration almost… orgasmic. 

It was just a pity that it wasn't a pleasure shared by his son. He was incredibly proud of Draco—a true Slytherin through and through. But sometimes, the boy needed some guidance. Hogwarts had softened the young Malfoy with its bevy of simpletons. Lucius snorted, thinking of his old house which now included a number of students whose families he never really approved of. That brought his mind back to the reason why he was making this trip in the first place 

Soon, his destination was in view. The large Tudor house lorded it over the sprawling countryside with its smattering of dwellings—not much different from the Malfoy Manor when it came to glory. 

Lucius slowed his pace as he approached. There really was no hurry. 

*** 

Inside the house, Taylor waited impatiently. He glanced at the large ornamental clock floating eerily above the fireplace. As usual, Lucius was late. Sometimes, he wondered if the bastard got some satisfaction out of flouting Taylor's obsessive rules on punctuality. But one never really knew with Lucius. He wasn't one to confide in others—even to those he called "friends." But one thing was sure: he served the organization well. 

Taylor stood and paced around the room, his heels clicking on the stone floor. His height was formidable, his shoulders wide and lean, sturdy bones framing his muscular physique. Clearly, he wasn't a man one wished to reckon with. 

He heard the swing of the door and sensed the quiet footsteps of his newly arrived comrade behind him. He didn't turn around to face his visitor as he frowned blackly at the wall. 

"You're late." 

"Your clock isn't accurate." 

Frowning even further, Taylor finally turned and jerked his head to the door. 

"It's this way." 

The two men left the study and headed for the basement. Down there, the air was chillier, and Lucius shivered slightly. Taylor didn't seem affected by the temperature change. He just unlocked one of the large, almost-rotten doors with an ancient-looking key. Before pushing it open, he turned to Lucius. 

"The others have agreed with the plan." 

"You had a meeting without me." It wasn't a question. Lucius' lips thinned, the change almost imperceptible. 

Taylor waved his had. "It was just to officially agree on what we've already discussed before. They voted that now is the time for action. Besides," He glanced at the blond man. "you were busy this morning." 

Lucius chose not to reply. He was annoyed with the Death Eaters' meeting without him, but it would be useless to tell Taylor this. The man had a mind of his own, and often, he found it enjoyable to challenge Lucius' authority—which was totally unnecessary given that they were both given the same responsibility as soon as their great leader had been destroyed. 

After Voldemort's death, their organization had undergone a massive upheaval. The numerous wizards and witches that joined them right after Voldemort's resurrection had either died, gone to prison, or bailed out. From almost a hundred, their numbers had dropped to a mere six—the loyal, original members who remained alive. They had lain low for a while, unwilling to create more trouble for themselves lest the Ministry decide to slap more charges against them. Naturally, the reins of leadership had passed to Taylor and Lucius—Voldemort's two right-hand men. 

"Did you talk to Draco?" Taylor asked as they entered the dank, underground passageway. 

"Yes, I did. He loved his mothers' cooking." 

"You know that's not what I meant, Lucius," Taylor snapped as he took a torch from the wall and lighted it with his wand. "Did he decide to join us?" 

"My son shall not be a part of our affairs until he decides to participate freely," Lucius replied with finality, his tone offering no room for rebuttals. 

Taylor seemed to get the hint. "You're very fortunate with your son. Mine does not now where to lead himself." 

"I'm sure Gregory would find his way in time." 

After that, the topic was closed. The two men walked along the narrow brick passageway, holding a torch each. The walls were slimy and damp with moisture, and the whole place had a lingering smell of vintage wine. Even the floor was wet, as Lucius could hear the faint splashing of water against his boots. They passed a number of narrow doors that led to other areas of the basement. 

"This place had been my family's cellar for hundreds of years. Some of the best wines in the world are still cased in these rooms—just waiting for man to enjoy them." 

They walked for more minutes in silence. Lucius was beginning to wonder how many miles must the cellars occupy underneath the mansion when Taylor stopped. He put his hand against a door. This one was different from the others. It was made of metal and thickly coated with rust. 

"My father hid it here years ago, when Our Lord was just young and not as powerful as he had been." 

Taylor took a chain from underneath his robes. A large, silver key hung around his neck on the chain. With it, he unlocked the metal door and pushed it with all his might. The door creaked and protested noisily against the forced movement that disturbed its decades of sleep. They entered the room, which seemed to be mustier than the passageway. Lucius wrinkled his nose as he stepped up one of the steps. 

"What's in this room, anyway?" 

"I'm not entirely sure myself. But my father told me that I'd know when to open it once the time comes that I should. Now our young Lord is back. Isn't that an indication?" 

"Perhaps," Lucius replied noncommittally. 

They looked around the room, swaying their torches to provide the light for their search. It seemed empty and after a few minutes of poking and looking around, the two men were starting to lose hope. 

"It's empty," Taylor voiced out, disappointed. 

"Wait a minute!" Lucius bent and brushed a portion of the wall. "I think there's something here. This part of the wall looks a bit off." 

They dug their fingernails into the wall, trying to remove the layers of dirt that had accumulated over the years. After what seemed like an eternity of scraping and bloody fingertips, they pried loose a brick, revealing a cavity that had been put there for concealing something. Excitedly, Lucius reached inside and brought out a shabby looking box. It looked like a miniature chest that had seen its share of glory a long time ago. 

Taylor broke the lock, and with baited breath, they opened the chest. 

Dumbstruck, they stared at the contents, their mouths opened slightly. It was Taylor who first spoke. 

"It's a dagger." 

"A very dirty dagger," Lucius added. 

Indeed, the dagger did look unremarkable in its ordinariness. The cheap molded handle was chipped in many places. The blade itself was dented and dull. Moreover, it was covered by a layer of crusty, rust-looking dirt. 

Lucius took the rolled piece of parchment that lay beside the dagger and handed it to Taylor. "Here. Maybe there's something here that explains it." 

They quickly skimmed through the letter. It was just a short message written by Taylor's father about the dagger. But, brief as it was, the letter carried a heavy meaning for the two Death Eaters. They stared at the dagger with new respect. 

"This was it. The dagger he used for his transformation rituals." Taylor's voice reverberated with awe. He took the box gingerly and touched the tip of the handle. "He must have traveled with this all over the world in his early days." 

"It has his blood on it. And not just blood, it includes the components of his rituals." Lucius' grey eyes were unreadable as he voiced the thought that had been playing in their minds. "Our Lord could live once more." 

"Ah, yes." Taylor nodded. "The boy." 

Without warning, the dark-haired man pointed his wand at the dagger and muttered. 

"_Lazarus_." 

*** 

"You lost control back there." Dumbledore greeted Tom with those words as soon as the boy entered his office. 

Tom started guiltily. He didn't realize that the Headmaster knew about his emotional upheaval and his ability to influence the physical world with it. He mentally berated himself. _Of course he knows, Tom, you idiot. He's been fighting against Voldemort for years_. 

"I'm sorry, Headmaster. I'll take care not to repeat that again." 

Dumbledore looked at Tom thoughtfully, his bushy white brows meeting in concentration. 

"Tom, my boy, is there something you wish to tell me?" 

Tom raised his eyes from the desk to meet Dumbledore's faded ones. They were old, yes, but wiser and more astute than any eyes Tom had ever seen. In his younger days, fifty years ago, Dumbledore did not have this tired air of exhaustion. But now, it seemed that he had seen too much and knew evil too well to be fooled. 

The silence hung heavy between them as the old wizard waited for his response. 

"No, Headmaster. I'm perfectly well," Tom answered finally. His voice rang clear with no sign of deceit. He smiled slightly to assure the Headmaster of his well-being. "I was just bothered earlier when I remembered something. But, it's all right. I have it under control." 

"Very well." Dumbledore gave him a resigned smile. "Perhaps I've just been worrying too much. Trying to rebuild the magical community after the war is no easy job. Just take care not to alarm the whole school in the future when you're feeling too excited." 

"I shall remember that." 

Tom gave him a last wave before leaving the office. He took his time walking back to his room, as he thought of what he just told the Headmaster. Had he made the right decision in not telling him about his memories of Voldemort? 

_You did not need to worry him_, he told himself. _All that happened in the past, even Dumbledore would not have been able to do anything about it_. 

He decided not to worry about it any further as he entered his quarters. 

At the same time, while Tom just closed his door, a Death Eater miles away pointed on a dagger and murmured a curse. 

Tom was just about to enter his bedroom when it hit him. A blinding white pain pierced his skull and traveled all the way in torturous bursts all over his body. He fell to the floor in all fours, gasping as the pain receded. Instantly, wave after wave of pain struck him as he yelled in suffering, helplessly collapsing on the floor. 

He tried to open his eyes through the agony. Everything was covered in a haze of red. Trying to get back on his feet by using the door to prop himself up, Tom caught sight of his arms. They were crimson, streaming with blood that seemed to flow endlessly from himself. He stared at his body in horror. There was blood everywhere! They traveled in thick rivulets from gaping wounds on his arms, his torso, and his legs, soaking his clothes and spilling all over the stone floor. 

He screamed, tearing his clothes off blindly as he stumbled, unable to find his way through the torment that he was going through. With the desperate instincts of the dying, he grabbed on the door knob—the nearest physical thing in reach—opened it, and launched himself into the unknown. 

*** 

Harry was just about to leave with his friends when he remembered that he had forgotten something. He had a gift for his godfather that he bought days ago while shopping with his friends. The amber cloak was something he knew Sirius would appreciate. Not wanting to show up at Sirius' place without the cloak, he bid Ron and Hermione to go on ahead, promising to follow them as soon as he got the cloak from Gryffindor Tower. 

He headed for his dormitory cheerfully, his mind on the celebration they would have later when suddenly, darkness flooded the castle. Harry started,  knowing that the school was lighted by magic so it couldn't possibly be an electrical upsurge. He wondered at the coincidence of the shaking that happened earlier when, just as quickly as it disappeared, the lights came back again. 

Before Harry could get his bearings back, a very naked sixteen-year old boy threw himself from his room and ran straight into Harry's arms. 

-TBC-


	5. The Sense of Falling

**Chasing Harry **

By Passo

**Chapter Five: The Sense of Falling **

Harry was pushed against the wall. His back slammed on the hard stone, making him yelp with pain. Stunned, he realized only moments later that he was no longer alone. He looked down, only to find Tom Riddle in his arms. An unconscious _and_ naked Tom Riddle. 

He looked down at Tom and was instantly alarmed by what he saw. Tom's face was dangerously pale, and his fingers were tightly clutching Harry's robes. He noticed the red scratches on his arms and chest which were still bleeding slightly. To his surprise, the wounds started to close before his eyes, the blood disappearing in seconds, until none was left. 

Harry blinked. The blood and all traces of Tom's injuries were gone. He was sure there had been some cuts… Harry ran his hand across Tom's arms, trying to find any sign that could possibly explain what he saw. But he found nothing. Not even scar tissue. Tom's skin was smooth under his touch. 

A little too smooth for someone who was supposed to have had it tough. Harry's hand stilled when it reached Tom's shoulder. He suddenly couldn't take his eyes off his hand on the Slytherin's naked skin. For a moment, Harry felt a strange, perverse feeling come over him as he stood there, holding Tom, staring at his hand. Skin on skin. Where earlier, there had been blood. 

The sound of footsteps brought Harry back to the realization that they were standing in the middle of the hall and that soon, a number of students would see the strange spectacle of him holding Tom's unclothed body in his arms. He flushed guiltily, remembering the slightly voyeuristic mood he had been in only seconds before. And with Tom unconscious, nonetheless! Hastily, he carried Tom back to his quarters and closed the door. 

~~~~~ 

"Stop it!" 

Lucius grabbed Taylor's wrist and yanked it away from the dagger's direction. Caught unaware, the dark-haired man let go of his wand, and stopped the curse he had been performing. 

"Are you trying to kill him?" Lucius seethed. He glared at Taylor who merely looked at him blankly. 

"I was just scaring him a little." He grinned and picked up his wand. "He has to learn to take a little pain. We want him to be strong, don't we?" 

"You're endangering everything we've worked for." Lucius tossed his head, his face returning to the apathetic mask he usually wore. "The boy will need time to adjust before we take action. Just let him be until then." 

Shrugging, Taylor didn't respond. He just slammed the lid of the box close and gestured towards the exit. 

Silently, the two men left the cellar. 

~~~~~ 

Harry covered Tom with a blanket, making sure that he was protected from the cold. He stood beside the bed, staring at Tom, wondering what he should do after this. 

He had meant to leave as soon as he made sure that Tom was all right. But now, he felt hesitant to leave him alone, worried that whatever happened might repeat itself once more. He found Tom's clothes scattered around outside the room, inside the door from the hall. It was as if he had torn them from his body just before he opened the door and passed out. Harry wondered at the thing that possibly caused Tom to do that. But before he knew for sure, he wouldn't leave Tom alone in Hogwarts tonight. 

Harry walked to the sitting room. Just as expected, he found the pot of floo powder above the fireplace. Using the floo network, he quickly informed Hermione and Ron that he wouldn't be able to join them that evening. Disappointed, they instantly demanded to know why. Not wanting to embarrass Tom, Harry just said that he was doing something really urgent for Dumbledore and that the details could wait. He sent his congratulations to Sirius through the fire instead with a promise that he would visit soon. 

He returned to the bedroom and sat beside the young Slytherin. Tom was still unconscious but at least he was breathing. Harry smiled slightly at the way the boy slept. Tom was curled under the covers, much like a child, his comforter tucked under his chin. Who would've thought that Voldemort had looked so endearing in his younger years? 

_But then, you may be the only one who thinks so_, Harry thought. He knew that majority of the students in Hogwarts were irrationally afraid of Tom because of the havoc his other self had done to the Wizarding World. And for what Tom himself had done. There were still a lot who remembered the one year of terror that the Chamber of Secrets had caused over the whole school. And they were not so ready to forgive Tom for that. Especially those who were petrified. He knew that Justin Finch-Fletchley gave the Slytherin a wide berth in the halls whenever Tom approached. So far, only Ginny and Hermione seemed to be on speaking terms with Tom among that group. 

He leaned on the pillows, resting his elbow on the bed, and surveyed Tom as he slept. He looked more peaceful now, no lines of tension marring the planes of his face—his classically handsome features more evident in sleep. 

It started to drizzle outside, making the temperature drop slightly. 

Harry sighed and watched the scene outside the window. It was going to be a cold night. But he didn't regret his decision to stay. The circumstances surrounding Tom's attack (?) felt rather fishy. And he promised himself that he would keep an eye on Tom until he got to the bottom of the matter. 

He didn't notice the hours as he waited, his eyes drowsy as it neared midnight. He tried to keep himself awake by walking around. Until, after a while, he parked himself on the large bed far away from Tom, placed his glasses on the side table, and surrendered to sleep. 

~~~~~ 

Tom felt the cold even before he opened his eyes. It seeped through his skin, no matter how much he tried to wrap the blanket around himself for warmth. He heard the crash of the rain against the window pane. The sound permeated to his bones—surrounding him with a lingering sense of isolation. 

And loneliness. 

Just like so many nights in his life. 

At that moment, he couldn't remember who or where he was before the sadness. He suddenly couldn't bear to be alone. He slid his hand across the sheets, stretching his arm, expecting to feel the same emptiness that hounded him to no end. 

But this time, he sensed warmth. 

His hand stopped, surprised. 

Then, with a sudden feral need to feel, to belong, to have… he grasped for it like a man deprived. He just wanted the coldness to end. And he needed someone to end it for him. 

Eyes still shut, he moved nearer, inhaling, breathing in the scent of the heat he was seeking. He could almost taste the closeness, the tangy flavor of skin taunting him, that even the slightest distance became unbearable. 

His eager fingers traveled over it—this person… his companion. 

He couldn't be satisfied with belonging. For, made as he was, he could never settle for less. He had to own—and this urgent craving could no longer be contained. 

~~~~~ 

There were hands caressing him. 

Harry moaned as his dreams took an abrupt erotic turn. He was being kissed, and he kissed back fervently, hungrily devouring the lips that claimed his own. His senses dimmed, heightened, and swung erratically as his dream-lover played him, leaving him wanting more with each flick of the tongue. A strange, pulsing heat traveled along his body, resting between his legs, as he threw his arms around the illusion, unwilling to let go and face reality. 

His eyes fluttered open as he felt warm flesh beneath his skin. He could feel the weight of someone over him, loving him. This was no dream. 

In shock, his body tensed as he looked up and stared straight into Tom's heated eyes. Harry's eyes widened as he initially panicked and stiffened underneath the Slytherin in shock. Tom started, noticing his silent response. Green eyes darkened by passion stared back at him. They bored into his, insistent, imploring. Wanting. 

"Let me…?" 

A gentle hand tenderly peeled his robe off, revealing a pale shoulder. Harry shivered as Tom bowed and breathed onto his skin, his lips grazing his chest, making the hairs on his skin tingle with excitement—his traitorous body bending against his will. 

"Just forget…" 

Hands traveled from his thighs up to his neck, touching softly, respectfully—almost reverent in behavior. Harry lost himself in the feeling as he tried to recover the last shreds of logic scattered in his mind. The rain shattered outside their silence. 

"…for tonight." 

Tom slowly bent forward, his eyes never leaving Harry's, locking the Gryffindor in his sensual prison. Their lips were an inch apart when he stopped, eyes drinking his fill of Harry's flushed skin. But he had played too long, and some fires were stoked too far to wait 

Harry raised his head and met Tom's lips, joining them into a fiery kiss as he encircled his arms around the Slytherin. Their bodies touched as Tom swept the rest of Harry's robe off him, letting it fall to the side of the bed, ignored. Their kiss was wet, and hard, almost desperate—as if they had so little time to be together. 

Harry's nails raked across Tom's back as his head arched, his hair fanning over the pillow. Black against white. He wrapped his legs over Tom's hips, wanting to be filled, to satisfy the raging hunger the Slytherin had awakened in seconds. 

The temperature rose with them, in spite of the rain. They were shut in their world of passion, still in their mutual embrace, oblivious of time and all things out of their union. Mingled sweat slipped across their skin, following their rhythm. Swaying. 

Dancing. 

And, just as they peaked, their hands linked, slowly, fingers filling each space in between…  Belonging. Having. 

And for that short eternity, the void was forgotten. 

~~~ 

He awoke with a sense of something missing. 

Tom rubbed his eyes as he sat up and blearily looked out of the window from his bed. The rain had stopped and the sun was shining cheerily over the Hogwarts grounds, as if it offered a new day of promise.  He yawned and stretched, swinging his legs to the floor as he prepared to stand. 

That was when he noticed his state of undress. Though he was alone, Tom quickly covered himself with a sheet, his natural modest instincts causing a blush to spread across his cheeks. Why wasn't he wearing any clothes? He had never slept naked all his life, considering the lack of clothing a disadvantage during emergencies. 

He stood from the bed and tied the sheet around his slim hips, his eyes traveling around the room to look for his missing clothes. Now where did he place them before going to bed? 

Tom started as he realized that he didn't even remember going to bed. In fact, he couldn't remember anything that happened last night. All he could recall was his meeting with Dumbledore. It had been twilight then, he remembered seeing the sun set through the windows as he walked back to his rooms. But what happened after that? 

A vision of greed eyes, wide with surprise, flashed through his mind. Harry? Tom shook his head. Why would he have seen Harry last night? They hadn't even talked since the other day. 

He stumbled to his living room, his legs feeling slightly shaky. He felt a strange burn on his back as he looked around the room. There seemed to be nothing amiss… Aside from his clothes which were neatly folded over a chair. 

Mystified, Tom walked over and took his robe. They were torn down one side, as if it had been ripped from him by a tremendous force. 

He stood there, holding the ruined robe, as the memory of his attack came rushing back to him. 

He remembered the pain, the strange searing pain that wouldn't leave him alone. And the blood that spilled from his skin, pooling around his feet as he screamed in agony—reliving all the pain he had gone through, magically magnified to make him suffer more. 

He quickly checked his arms for signs of wounds or cuts. But there seemed to be none. In fact, he was totally spotless except for… His hands grazed his back as he stretched his arm behind him. He felt a slight burn as he touched his skin. He looked to the mirror, turning slightly as he surveyed his back's reflection. 

There were three, long, and pronounced scratched on his back—shallow enough to ignore, but deep enough to draw blood. 

He ran his fingers across the wounds, his brow furrowing in concentration as he tried to think. Why were these wounds present when everything else had disappeared? Even all the traces of blood were gone from him, his clothes, and the floor. 

His bare feet padded across the floor as he walked back to his room. He felt unusually sleepy today, as if he had not slept during most of the night. And he could remember the reason for that. He had been having bizarre, disturbingly sexual dreams all through the night. They had felt so real, as is there really was someone with him on the bed, sharing the night with him. 

He smiled to himself. It must have been his reward for the hell he had experienced just before he lost consciousness. 

He placed his hands on his flat belly, rubbing the sticky skin slightly as he… Sticky!? 

Tom looked down. He carefully ran his fingers over his skin. Yes, it was sticky. Sticky with… 

His eyes were suddenly drawn to the tie that was carelessly thrown on his bed's headboard. It was a school tie. Striped red and gold. It lay there innocently, slightly rumpled, as if it had been unknotted with undue haste and tossed to the side. 

A Gryffindor tie on his bed, his hands sticky with spunk from his skin, wide green eyes in his dreams… 

He had to hold on to one of the bedposts to support himself as reality nearly knocked him over. 

Harry, the rain… their wild night together… it was all real! 

~~~ 

Lucius climbed out of the bed, the black silk sheets sliding over him like water. He checked the time. It was time to go home. His wife would be wondering where he was. 

He was about to stand when someone grabbed his wrist. 

"Where are you going so early in the morning?" 

He turned, long platinum hair swinging as he faced his colleague, his rival, and his lover. 

"Nowhere." 

Taylor smiled, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the sides as he did. A dimple sank on the right cheek of his handsome face. Playfully, he pulled Lucius to him, sending the blond man sprawling over his tall, lithe form. Locking his pale lover in his embrace, he whispered into his hair. 

"I would miss you. Don't leave me so fast." 

"I have work to do." Lucius replied blankly. He pulled himself up, letting Taylor's arms fall to the bed. "The estate does not manage itself alone, as you must know." 

"I have too much work as it is for you to remind me of that." Taylor frowned at Lucius who was crossing the room, naked. The blond took his robe from the dresser and quickly slipped into it, fastening the front efficiently. 

"I shall be seeing my son next weekend at Hogwarts." Blue-grey eyes glanced at the bed for a moment. "Do you want to come?" 

"What would I do in that stupid mudblood-infested school?" Lazily, Taylor twirled his wand, not the slightest bit uncomfortable with his naked state. 

"You could see your son—" 

"—who is a disaster waiting to happen," Taylor finished flatly. "No. I would rather stay here thank you." 

"It's not just Gregory." Lucius ran a comb through his hair, straightening the tousled locks. "The boy. Our Lord." 

White teeth flashed as Taylor's mouth widened in a smile. "Of course. Our Lord." 

The irony in his tone did not go unnoticed. 

"Our Lord as long as we need him." With these last words, Lucius took his cane and swept out of the room, slamming the door behind him. 

As soon as he was out of the house, he stopped before he entered his car. He looked up at the imposing manor, trying to imagine the place if things had been different from the way they were now. The wind picked up, lifting strands of white-blond hair from his shoulders, letting them stray against his skin. For a second, there was a wistful look in his eyes as he thought of his son. Taylor. And their lost youth. 

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind from thoughts that had never been. Everything had happened as they did. There was no way to change that. 

Just like Voldemort's death. 

He entered his car, the steel back in his eyes. Taylor was right. There was much work for them to do. 

-TBC- 


	6. Bitter Taste of Regret

**Chasing Harry **

By Passo

**Chapter Six: A Bitter Taste of Regret**

** **

He crawled to his bed silently, slipping under the covers while trying not to wake anyone. His body throbbed everywhere, and not just because of pain. He would have tried to think about it, but he didn't really feel like being rational at the moment. 

He touched his shoulder, pushing his fingertips to his skin. He imagined he could still feel the signs of his kiss: the press of his lips, the sweep of his tongue, the bite of his teeth… He was marked. And not just within. 

He pulled the pillow towards himself, crushing the soft material in his arms. In the company of someone, he had found isolation. 

~~~~~ 

"Tom?" 

"Yes, Draco?" Tom turned to his friend, trying to smile. 

"What the hell is the matter with you? You haven't touched your plate since the food arrived." 

The blond gestured to Tom's plate. "Do you plan to eat?" 

"Of course I do." Tom shoved the peas to one side and half-heartedly speared a piece of meat. "I'm just not very hungry." 

"Hmm… That's unusual, coming from you. The past few weeks you have been eating like crazy, probably to make up for the lack of food in the diary. I was actually afraid you'd get horribly fat." 

Tom laughed, tapping his tummy. "I figured I should start watching my weight." 

"Is that the reason why you're not eating that?" Draco pointed at the fork Tom had put down almost immediately. "Or is there something else that's bothering you?" 

"Nothing. There's nothing." 

"It's either you're a bad liar or you're not even trying." He placed an elbow on the table and stared at Tom, knowing how uncomfortable he made the other boy with his questions. "Is it someone from Gryffindor?" 

"What?" Tom stared back with wide eyes. "Where did you get that idea?" 

"You looked over at their table once," Draco replied smugly. "So, who is she? Not that I'd approve, you know. I just want to know." 

"Once isn't enough. And I wasn't looking over at them." Tom raised an eyebrow.  "There's no one. If I do choose, it won't be in Gryffindor. Credit me with a little taste, will you?" 

"Once is enough if you look the way you looked. And you do have a Gryffindor friend. Harry Potter. Who's to say you won't find a girl from their crowd?" 

The mention of Harry almost made him choke. "Draco, there's no one. This topic is closed." Tom shoved the food in his mouth, hoping that it would stop the other from asking any more questions. 

"Suit yourself. But if you think I'll forget about this, then you're dreaming." Grinning, Draco turned to his food. 

Relieved, Tom swallowed. He should be more careful. But for now he couldn't help but be distracted. He was anxious to see Harry. And yet, at the same time, he didn't know if he wanted to see him. 

What would he say when they meet? He can't really say 'I'm sorry I shagged you. I was just lonely.' That would be heartless. Besides, that wasn't what he really wanted to say. What did he want to say? He didn't even know how he felt! He was just a jumble of nerves today. 

He controlled the urge to sneak another look at the Gryffindor table. He knew Harry wasn't there. Draco was right. He looked earlier. As much as he wanted to skirt the issue, he knew that he had to see Harry sooner or later. What happened couldn't be ignored, and he had to make amends with his Gryffindor friend._ _

_Make amends. As if he had done something wrong. Tom pressed his temple with his fingers. Was it wrong? He didn't even remember how it happened. He knew it just did. But, if one thought about it… he did do something wrong! He… he made love with Harry! _

He put his hand on the table, feeling not the wood, but the smoothness of Harry's vanilla skin. 

"Tom, you're blushing." 

"Shut up, Draco."  

~~~~~ 

"Remus?" Harry knocked on the open door. 

"Harry!" Remus turned from his painting. "You're here!" 

Grinning, Harry hugged his friend. "I found the door unlocked. Where's Sirius? I thought I'd drop by since I wasn't able to come last night." 

"He's in muggle-London buying something for his beloved motorcycle. I swear, he spends more on that monster than he does on himself." 

"Like you spend more on this studio than you spend on food?" Harry asked pointedly, his grin widening. 

"Well…" Remus flushed. "I love this more than anything." 

Harry sat on the floor and glanced around the spacious studio. It was filled with Remus' artwork. Canvases of all sizes leaned on the walls, the people within them shifting and dancing in their eternal worlds. The shiny wood-paneled floor was spotted with drops of paint that Remus had failed to clean-up, distracted as he was all the time. The faint smell of turpentine hung in the air, despite the breeze that flew in from outside. One wall was made of French doors that opened onto a balcony. The glittering waters of the lake reflected the sunlight beyond the grills. 

He turned back to Remus. "I understand. I'm so glad that you've decided to live here permanently. I always feel peaceful whenever I'm here." 

"Well it sure beats having to travel around a lot. One can't really paint while on the road." Remus picked up a brush, angling his head slightly. "You sound troubled. Is there a problem?" 

"Why do you ask?" 

"It's the way you said 'peaceful'. I could sense another reason for your coming to see us." 

Harry smiled, drawing circles on the floor with his fingers. "I'm just confused." 

"Ah! So there is one." He touched the brush on the surface of the stretched canvas, flicking a shot of Prussian blue on white. "I'm listening." 

"No. There's none, really." 

"I believe you." 

The silence stretched for a few seconds before Harry broke it. 

"Remus, can I ask you a question?" 

"Of course. Ask away." 

"Have you ever had a one night stand?" 

Remus' hand stilled. He dipped his head slightly and continued painting. "Somehow, I did not expect that. To answer your question… yes, I have. Why? What happened last night?" 

"Nothing. I was just curious." He raised his eyes. "What did you feel afterwards? Do you ever speak to the person?" 

"Most of the time, yes. But not if we fight. But generally, it's okay. After all, we both got to the situation willingly. One just leaves and tries not talk about it in front of others." 

"But what if it happened accidentally?" 

"Accidentally?"  Remus raised an eyebrow. 

"Like, if the other didn't know what was coming?" 

"Hmm… That's different. Non-consensual sex is dangerous. It could create trouble for both and a lot of pain for the aggrieved party." Remus eyes widened, as if he had just realized something. 

"Are you talking about rape?" 

"No, no. Not that kind. The type where…" He wrinkled his brow, trying to find the right words. "Where it just happens. You know… you  just realize later what the other did." 

"Ohh… that kind. That really depends. Did the person like it? What did he or she feel afterwards? If one is angry or hurt, then it was rape. Otherwise.." Remus shrugged. "Of course this is just my opinion. I'm not speaking for the law or anything. Did this happen or is it just a hypothetical situation you're wondering about?"  

"It's just something I thought about on the way," Harry replied. He didn't really feel like going through the details. He was still digesting the fact of what happened last night. 

"It's a strange thing to think about. For a second there, you had me worried. I was afraid you knocked up some girl." He smiled as mixed the tints on the palette. 

Harry laughed strangely. "There's really no danger of that happening." 

For a few minutes, Harry just sat there, watching Remus paint. It was a pleasure to do that. Remus looked so focused. Like the rest of the world did not exist. It was just him, the canvas, and the paintbrush. The sweep of the colors was intoxicating, and he felt himself drowning in their depths. 

Drowning. Yes, he was prone to that. Last night, he hardly even remembered breathing. 

"Harry?" 

He awoke from his reverie. "Yes?" 

"Maybe you should talk to this person. It could be more than a one night stand, you know?"  

He stared at Remus, his mouth hanging open. 

~~~~~ 

_Did the fact that he left mean that he regretted it? Was he angry? _

Tom flicked the page of the book he was reading. He was sprawled on the floor of the library, leaning on a corner bookshelf where he knew he wouldn't be bothered (and where he could escape from Draco's probing questions). All the thinking and wondering was killing him. He supposed he should talk to Harry so he could end this torturous speculation. But he wasn't sure if he was ready to face him.

_Why so guilty, Tom? _

_Because I didn't even consider him. _

He had not been a saint in the past. Like most, he had indulged willingly in the more delicious human activities. And he had enjoyed each and everyone of them. It wasn't really challenging. He didn't even have to try very hard. He wasn't close to anyone but everyone seemed eager to have him share their bed, girls and boys alike. They wouldn't even care if he'd take the trouble to say hello the next day. The fact that the brilliant Tom Riddle was willing to sleep with them once was okay. He may have been a loner, but he was definitely not an innocent. 

_But was Harry one? _

He wouldn't forgive himself if he ruined Harry last night. Granted that the sex was unavoidable (he was just there on the bed!), he was not even conscious enough to make sure that the whole experience would be good for him too. He was stupidly blinded by his own lust to even care about the other person. That was one thing he was proud about himself: no matter who he was with, he never ever tried to hurt someone else in bed. But now, he may have had. And of all people, it had to be Harry Potter. 

He tossed the book onto the shelf. It was his fault. He had to fix this. Or at least try to. But he also knew that whatever Harry said, nothing would ever be the same between them again. 

~~~~~ 

"…and you have been staring at the fireplace too long!" 

"Ow!" Harry gripped his arm. "What was that for?" 

"For not paying attention to everything Ron and I have been saying the past half-hour," Hermione replied after giving Harry a hard, naughty pinch. 

"I was listening!" 

"Yeah you were," Ron snickered. "You grunted every time someone paused." 

"If you were listening, then what were we talking about?" Hermione raised her eyebrows. 

"Sorry," Harry flushed. "I was a bit distracted." 

"See. Now he admits it!" 

"So what were you guys talking about?" he asked. 

"Nothing important. Too trivial to repeat anything anyway." Hermione waved her hand. "Why were you not at lunch today?" 

"I went to see Sirius but he wasn't there. So I just talked to Remus for a while." 

"I see." 

The both of them stared at Harry with odd looks on their faces. 

"Hey, if you don't believe me, then ask Remus!" Harry said defensively. 

"Oh we believe you," Ron said. "We were just staring at that hickey on your neck."  

"Hickey? I didn't see that!" His hand traveled to his throat. "Where?" 

"See, he's hiding something!" Ron gave Hermione a high five and rolled off the couch, laughing. 

"There's no hickey. Sorry, Harry, I couldn't resist." 

His hand on his throat, Harry flushed and poked Ron on the ribs. "That wasn't funny." 

"The look on your face was funny," Hermione giggled. "You looked so guilty."  

"Whatever, guys," Harry stood. "I need to take a walk for a while. Don't follow me." 

"Oh… meeting somebody?" Ron's head popped out from behind a throw pillow. 

"Nope. Just walking. Go bother someone else." Harry grinned and walked out of the common room. 

He took a deep breath as he stepped into the hall. If he wasn't careful, they might actually squeak the whole incident out of him. It had been a close call with Remus earlier. Lucky for him that the man wasn't the type to pry.  This thing with Tom was not something he wanted to talk about. 

He had not meant to wander off earlier while talking with Ron and Hermione but something Remus had said stuck in his mind. 

Did he like it? 

He had been skirting around that question since last night.  He had been focusing on the fact that _it happened, and not on how he felt about it. _

For someone from his generation, Harry somehow felt that he couldn't be as liberated as most of today's youth. There was something in him that remained quite conservative, in spite of the relatively liberal beliefs on morality that he shared with his friends. Sure, he believed in having sex for pleasure. But he never did like the idea of one night stands. And, judging from the events before _the_ event, last night was such one. There was something furtive and forbidden about what Tom and he had done. Granted, they were not total strangers. But there wasn't even an iota of warning beforehand! 

He had thought of having his first sexual encounter many times before, and they all somehow involved a relationship with someone he cared about. Someone he'd want for a reason. The question was… did he want Tom? 

There was no doubt about what Tom wanted. Harry's blood rushed as he remembered the way Tom had devoured him, lapping him up like a possessed man. He must have licked every surface, leaving no inch of him unexplored. And his hands… he didn't know how he could have made each touch feel like fire. He had claimed Harry totally, as if he was afraid to leave a little for someone else. It had started so quickly, but they spent minutes… So many short minutes that lasted forever, burning, before Tom finally drifted off to sleep in the afterglow of their union. 

And, coward that he was, Harry left rather than face his confusion. 

Don't kid yourself, Harry. You wanted it. 

Yes, he did. He didn't know how or when. But somewhere between his surprise upon waking and Tom's glorious kisses, he had succumbed. And he wasn't even sure if he regretted it. But there was one thing he knew: he didn't have an idea of what he'd tell Tom the next time they met. 

Which, as luck would have it, would be now. 

"Harry?" 

He stopped and turned to the sound of the voice calling his name. Tom stood at the door outside the library, his expression unreadable. He was here. Just two feet away. 

Harry took another step. 

"Wait!" Tom grabbed his wrist. "Don't go." 

"I wasn't leaving." Harry looked down at his hand. Tom let go of it abruptly. 

"We need to talk." 

The library door opened and someone stepped out. It was Colin Creevey. The younger Gryffindor was about to smile at Harry when he saw Tom and instantly paled. He scuttled off to the Tower in seconds. 

Tom watched Colin's retreating back blankly. "But not here. Somewhere else. Where no one will overhear us." 

Harry nodded silently. They walked together in silence, carefully apart, and entered an unused classroom. Tom shut the door as Harry sat on a window ledge. Tom joined him in a few moments, keeping his distance. 

"Are you okay?" Tom asked. 

"Yes," Harry answered softly. "What about you?" 

"Fine," He cocked his head. "Why do you ask?" 

"You were bleeding when I found you in the hall." 

"I was?" The green eyes widened. "You brought me back to the room?" 

Harry nodded. "I was worried about you." He didn't even look at him as he talked. His eyes were trained outside the window. 

Tom didn't reply. Harry was worried about him. He had not known that it would feel like this. No one had been worried about him before. Harry was the first, and, fool as he was,  he just had to take advantage of him. 

Tom cleared his throat. What had he planned to say? "About last night…were you hurt?" _Did I hurt you?_

Harry slowly turned his head and met Tom's eyes. What does one say in return? What would some other teenage boy say? 'No sweat, man. It was just sex. And it was a blast! Wanna do it again next time?' 

But he wasn't another teenage boy. He was Harry. And it wasn't like him to be so free… so unconcerned. He knew why he had remained unattached 'til now. Idealistic as the thought was, he wanted the first time to be special. That was why he waited for the right person. But it seemed that the waiting was all for naught. 

He shook his head. "I'm okay. You didn't hurt me." _You were perfect_. 

"I was worried… you left right after." _I wished I could have seen you that morning_. 

"I didn't want to stay." _I was afraid to face you_. 

"I understand." _You hated me_. 

The moonlight played on the glass, trickling little shafts of light in between the dust. They caught on Harry's eyes, staining on the green, making them glow. Tom leaned closer. The sound of his heartbeat shattered in his eardrums. This was it… he had to say something. Something to save what was now falling apart before them. 

"I'm sorry, Harry." _No! I'm not_. But he couldn't take it back. _Don't tell me you are_. 

Harry smiled, his lips lifting at the corners. Even at his weakest, he always felt the need to protect. 

"I know. I'm sorry, too," _You regret it_. "You were lonely." 

"It's more than that." Tom sat back, blaming himself for opening his mouth. It sounded trite, even to him. _You regret everything_. _You saved me. You saved me last night._

Harry linked his hands together, thinking. 

"Tom… I think we shouldn't see each other for a while," _Because you don't really want me. _

"It's better this way." _Then maybe I can forget, like it never happened_. 

If Harry was waiting for an answer, then he would have received none. For Tom didn't say a word. He just looked straight at him, unmoving—his expression indifferent. And maybe that was what hurt most of all. 

Harry stood and walked to the door. He opened it, left, and closed it behind him without looking back. 

It was almost anti-climatic—Harry's leaving.  

In the silence of the room, Tom lifted his fingers slowly. He touched the stone surface beneath the window where Harry's fingers had rested only moments ago.

_I used to wish I could feel.  _

He felt strangely blank as he pressed on the stone. He should have known that he would never really change. He always destroyed everything he touched. 

And, at that moment, he felt nothing but pain.  

-TBC-


	7. Phases

**Chasing Harry **

By Passo

**Chapter Seven: Phases **

"How often do you see snakes laughing?" 

His eyes snapped open. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the haze. "I've never seen one." 

"Exactly." 

"Snakes don't laugh. What kind of question was that?" 

"You just don't watch hard enough to see them." 

He was handed a mirror, the delicate, gilded frame cold beneath his fingers. On the silvery surface, he saw the smoke that sheltered them, surrounding him and his companion. 

"Go on." 

Hesitantly, he raised the mirror. Holding it before him, he stared at himself. 

"I just see me." 

The man leaned in, his dark eyes amused. "Really? Maybe you should look closer." 

He shifted his eyes back to his reflection. To his shock, he stared at his face. It swirled, disappeared, turning to red. Crimson—blood between the slits—a travesty of eyes that rested on sharp, pale cheekbones. Flesh that whispered places no one had ever dared to see. And it smiled, the colorless lips splitting into a mad grin, taunting him with unspoken threats. 

He threw the mirror away in horror. It sank, dying beneath the fog. 

He faced the man, gasping. "Who are you? What do you want with me?" 

The dark eyes twinkled, staring at him proudly. "Ah, but don't you recognize me?" 

He shook his head, shivering in the sudden cold. The world was getting dimmer, gray fading to black. Suddenly, he no longer wanted to hear the answer. 

"I am you." 

"No!" 

~~~ 

Tom sat up, sweating. His alarm clock was singing shrilly—it was a plastic, purple bird that sang the same song over and over until he woke up. Cursing softly, he tapped the alarm (a little too hard) and it stopped, plunging his room back to silence. He should thank the person who left that on his door—if he ever found out who did. 

Sighing, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve. He must have had another nightmare. It was a good thing that he never really remembered his dreams. Most of the time, he just awoke with just a slightly squeamish feeling in his stomach. Like today, for instance. He poked at the purple bird that was lying on its side at the bedside table. 

"Seven o'clock!" it squawked. 

It was time to get up. 

~~~ 

"I think students should have more freedom when it comes to choosing their uniforms," Blaise Zabini complained as he adjusted his tie. "This big, black robe does absolutely nothing for me! It just makes me look _colorless_." 

"Then get a tan!" Draco chortled as he poked his roommate's side. "You'll definitely look black and white if you stay indoors the whole day the way you do. Go out and play a little." 

Blaise stared at him, scandalized. "The sun hurts my skin!" 

"Unless you want to put make-up on then I don't think there's any other alternative," Draco shot back. 

"Who's wearing make-up?" 

"Tom!" Draco turned to the new voice. "Glad to see you're here early. Blaise has been moaning about his 'paleness' this early in the morning." 

"Well, you could color your hair," Tom added helpfully, then grinned, imagining Draco's suggestion. "But the make-up would be more interesting." 

Blaise sniffed. "Zabinis don't need cosmetics to look wonderful, thank you. But I'll think about the hair suggestion. Vincent!" he called out to Crabbe. "Do you still have that wussy girl magazine with the hair color ads?" 

Draco chuckled as Crabbe started protesting, denying the existence of such a magazine. 

"It seems to be a lot of fun here. Maybe I should ask Dumbledore to have me transferred to the Slytherin rooms. I really don't need to have a room for myself," Tom mused. 

"Yes, especially when that room's so close to Gryffindor Tower. Eew! Imagine running into those goody-goodies everyday." Draco wrinkled his nose. "As if classes with them weren't bad enough." 

"Oh it's not that bad, really. I hardly stay in my room. But walking to and from our common room to there every night can be tiring. The privacy is a good thing but I'm missing out on all the fun here." 

"Why did the Headmaster place you there, anyway?" 

"It was the initial apprehension over my arrival. He thought it was a good idea to stay separate from the main Houses just in case someone tried anything. But everyone's pretty much used to seeing me around these days." 

"And to keep you closer to Potter, I imagine," Draco finished shrewdly. "He's Dumbledore's favorite, and he probably wanted you to make friends with his darling ickle boy… an attempt to take you away from our influence, I gather." 

"And that too," Tom admitted. "But it didn't work out. We're not really friends." 

"Glad you never got past the 'acquaintance' stage, then. Potter's no good." 

At that comment, Tom felt his neck burn with sudden heat. Got past the acquaintance stage? They sure had gone past that stage! Way past… only they forgot to go through the usual stages in between. He was relieved that Draco turned his attention away from him right after that, as the blond boy was trying to intervene between Blaise and Crabbe. It wouldn't do to have anyone notice him blush right after mentioning Harry. 

It had been days since he last saw the Gryffindor. Either he was spending too much time with his fellow Slytherins or Harry was making an excellent effort with avoiding him. He supposed it was for their own good… the separation. He had rushed things, and without Harry's consent. He had hurt someone again, only this time, it wasn't intentional. 

"The next time you want to have a magazine hidden, then you should find a better hiding place than under your pillow!" Tom's attention was grabbed by Draco's remark. 

"But it was just for research," Crabbe explained weakly. "Muggle Studies." 

"Hah!" Blaise exclaimed, tossing his aristocratic head and glaring at Crabbe. "Everyone is in denial. Poosh!" 

"And I suppose you're not," Draco said dryly. 

"Oh no! I love myself. I am a free spirit!" Blaise said, spreading his arms ebulliently. "I accept everyone in the world… as long as they come up to my standards." 

"That's interesting," Tom butted in. "And what are your standards?" 

"Beautiful people, of course." Blaise's black eyes suddenly sparkled. "Like you. Are you taken, Tom?" 

The question took a while to sink into his brain. "Taken? I suppose not if you don't… AM I WHAT?" 

"Er… Blaise, keep Tom out of your field of interest. He might not move in with us then." Laughing, Draco grabbed his books from his bed. "C'mon, or we'll be late for class." 

"Yeah, we better go." Tom grinned. "Bye guys!" He waved at the room in general, amused with Blaise's stormy expression. He pulled Draco out and closed the door behind them. 

~~~ 

"Harry?" 

"Ginny! Hi! What brings you here?" Harry smiled warmly and pulled a chair for her beside him. Fortunately, the library was nearly empty and Madame Pince seemed to have disappeared temporarily. 

"Nothing important. I just felt like I haven't talked to you in a while." She sat beside Harry, resting her hands on her folded arms. "Am I bothering you?" 

"Oh no! Not at all. I was just scanning through this essay. It's pretty much done, I'm just checking for errors I missed." 

"I see." She watched him in silence as he continued reading. Soon, he started to feel uncomfortable with her scrutiny. 

"Um.. Gin… is there something wrong?" 

"I was just thinking. Do you remember how it was years ago, when I was so into you that I couldn't even talk to you straight?" 

"Yeah," Harry grinned. "I couldn't figure out the real reason even when you practically said it. I was so thick then." 

"Yes you were." She smiled back. "I couldn't seem to get your attention. Until Tom came." 

"Tom?" The name startled him. He didn't want to think about Tom right now. 

But Ginny didn't notice his discomfort. "Yes. The diary. I told him everything there, Harry. How I adored you in spite of your fame, how I wished for you to at least notice me even once, but you never did seem to see me. He knew everything, and he used my desire to take me… he almost killed me." 

"Do you still hate him for that?" he asked softly. 

"No," she admitted. "As much as I'd want to hate him, I don't. It's funny. I used to blame him then. I wanted to destroy him for almost ruining me. But when I saw him, alive as much as we are, looking at me with such… human eyes. Human, Harry! He wasn't the monster I had imagined him to be." 

She sighed. "I understood what he did. He was imprisoned, unwanted. Kept as a reserve for vengeful reasons. Such a basis for existence would embitter a person. And, after a while, people would start to look like bodies—tools for the trade. He was desperate then, and he just took what he had available for survival. He wanted to live, really live." 

"Is this… is this about Tom?" he asked hesitantly. 

"No," she shook her head. "It's not about Tom. But it was Tom who made me realize what I have come here to say." 

"And what do you have to say?" he was almost afraid to ask the question. 

"Tom then… was very different to who he is now. He bounced back fuller, faster than anyone had expected. Although I can't see who he is inside, and I don't think I ever will, he represents something I have been trying to hide for a very long time now." 

She took a deep breath, bracing herself for what she had to say. "I… I forgive him." 

The tight feeling in his chest disappeared. "That's it?" 

"Well, yes. I wanted to tell you that I forgave him. Really and truly." She smiled. 

"Oh… have you told him?" He didn't know what to think. He was sure she was about to say something else. 

"Yes, basically. Remember our talk?" 

"The really long one? How could I forget? I waited for you outside." 

"Well I told him that. And more. But the rest aren't important." She blushed. "Anyway, he promised me one thing, too. Something that might be of importance to you." 

"Something about me?" Harry's eyes widened. 

"Yes. I made him promise not to hurt you." She stared at him earnestly. "I was afraid that it might happen all over again: that nightmare that you just went through since you were a baby. I wanted to make sure by making him give his word." She suddenly frowned, her eyes taking on a strange look. "Has he hurt you, Harry?" 

"No, he hasn't," he answered. _Where it doesn't show_. "And I don't think he ever will." 

"I'm glad." She smiled. "He has found his niche, don't you think? I see him around his Housemates often. Not that I'm fond of them, but still, they're people. And on the bright side, he'll no longer be hanging out with basilisks." 

They laughed, attracting the attention of an irritable Madam Pince who ended the prospect of any more conversations after that. 

~~~ 

His move to the Slytherin dorm rooms was smooth. Dumbledore had quickly agreed with Tom's suggestion, knowing that the boy would have a more normal life with his fellow Slytherins. 

Professor Snape had been pleased. Tom had been added to his list of favorite students after the boy's particular brilliance shone through with his schoolwork. The Potions Master dubbed him as another "star" from their House—a student everyone should emulate. The little speech, when he announced it to his Potions class, brought him looks of disbelief from the Gryffindors and smug, agreeing nods from the Slytherins. Tom, himself, had been rather stoic about the praise. 

Draco found it amusing. "I like Professor Snape, as much as my father hates the idea. He's a good adviser, and the best Head of House in this school." 

"I'm inclined to agree about that. He's very protective of his students." Tom paused. "Why does your father hate him?" 

"It's not really hate. They used to be friends, before the Professor sided with the Order." He glanced at Tom. "I'm not bothering to hide anything from you. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about, probably more. My father was… one of them." 

Tom nodded. "Yes, I know what you meant. You're father…" 

"I don't really want to know what he did," Draco cut him off. "I'm sorry, Tom. I was just not that close to him then. I loved him, yes. But we didn't see eye to eye. I refused to meddle in their affairs, and he never asked me again after the first time." 

"I was going to say that your father covered his tracks well. There was no proof, aside from garbled stories that could not be proven." 

"You won't say anything to anyone?" Draco asked in wonder. "You never have?" 

Tom shook his head. "It is not for me to revisit. It's over. Voldemort is dead." 

"If there was anyone who existed who could blow all the other Death Eaters cover then it's you. It's amazing that you haven't really said anything to the Aurors. Didn't they ask?" 

"Yes." Tom smiled grimly. "But they didn't push the issue. I think they have their reservations when it comes to me. They don't trust me that much, you know. Not everyone agrees with Dumbledore." 

"No one should agree with Dumbledore." 

Both boys looked up from their seats, surprised to hear a new voice enter the conversation. Lucius Malfoy stood before them, resplendent in his elegant robes. He smiled, looking at Tom. 

"Tom Riddle, I believe?" 

"Yes." He took the offered hand, feeling the smooth aristocratic skin closing over his fingers. "I am Tom Riddle." 

Lucius held on for longer than necessary. He looked at Tom with a bemused expression. After Tom tugged at his hand lightly, he finally released him. 

"Pardon me, Tom. I'm sure you understand if I find our meeting rather strange." 

"Father," Draco spoke up. "Why the sudden visit?" 

"I was here for a board meeting. I took the opportunity to pass by you." He glanced at Tom once again, his gray eyes veiled. "I have to go now, Narcissa is expecting me early. It has been my pleasure to meet you, Mr. Riddle." 

"As is mine, Mr. Malfoy," Tom answered, smiling slightly. 

"I'll be seeing you then." 

He left, walking briskly away with his black cloak flaring behind him. Both boys watched his retreating figure. 

"My father would never hurt you, Tom," Draco said suddenly, his expression troubled. 

"I was not thinking of that," Tom soothed. "Don't worry. Like I told you, it's over." 

A thoughtful look entered Draco's eyes. "Then, I assume that you won't be saying no to an invitation to the Manor during the holidays?" 

The green eyes lit up. "You're inviting me?" 

Draco grinned. "I didn't expect you to be excited. Yes, I am inviting you. Are you accepting my invitation?" 

"Yes." Tom laughed. "I was never invited over the holidays before. This is a new thing for me. It'll be different from staying in Hogwarts for Christmas, I'm sure." 

"Oh, yes. Very, very different." 

~~~ 

Harry paused as he passed Tom's door on the way to his quarters. He was about to pass by when something grabbed his attention. The door. There was something wrong. Why was it ajar? 

His arms full of books that he borrowed from the library, Harry pushed the door fully open with his foot. Darkness met him. Empty darkness. The furniture was gone. And so was Tom. The door to the bedroom was wide open too, showing the same emptiness except for the four-poster bed with the sheets stripped off. The bed where they… Harry shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. 

For a moment, he panicked. Has something dangerous happened to the Slytherin? Why was everything gone? 

"Harry?" 

He nearly dropped the books. "Tom! You… you're here!" 

"Yes." His brows furrowed. "Is there something wrong?" 

"No! No. I just… I was just wondering why it's empty." Harry looked down, fighting the urge to flee. He wasn't ready to face him again. Seeing him brought back too many memories—memories he wished to forget. 

"I see." Tom looked around. "I suppose it's rather sudden. I moved to the Slytherin dorms. Just yesterday." 

Harry nodded, smiling vacantly. "That's good. It'll be great to stay with your Housemates. I meant your friends and all." _Stop babbling, Harry_. 

"Well, it's rather more convenient," Tom agreed. 

They didn't know what to say after that. A few seconds of staring avidly down on their respective feet ensued before Harry desperately broke the silence. 

"So what brings you back?" 

"I forgot something." 

"Really? What is it?" He sounded a little breathless. 

"This. _Accio clock_!" The little, purple alarm clock zoomed out of the dark bedroom into Tom's hand. He smiled at Harry as he showed him the trinket. "It's my alarm clock. Rather strange but it's effective." He poked the bird's tummy, making it shriek out the time. Eight thirty. 

Harry laughed softly. He didn't expect that one coming. "That's a very interesting clock. I don't think I've ever seen anything like it." 

"It was a gift. I don't know who gave it, though. I just found it in a box outside my door one morning. I mean to thank the giver, whoever he or she is. It never failed to wake me up." 

"Yes. It must be handy." Harry turned away slightly. "I think I have to go now. I still have to bring this books to Hermione." 

"Do you need help?" Tom offered. 

"Need help with what?" 

"The books." 

"Oh. Well, no," Harry declined. "I can handle them." 

"Okay, then. Bye Harry." 

"Good night, Tom." He walked out the door, feeling the Slytherin's eyes on his back. Before he turned the corner, he heard Tom call out once more. 

"Harry?" 

He paused. Then turned around. Slowly. "Yes?" 

"Take care of yourself." With that, Tom walked away, leaving his former room forever—with Harry staring after him. 

~~~ 

"Why is it so hard to tell you how I feel?" She stared at the mirror woodenly, running her fingers over the glass. It left long, horizontal marks on the surface, marring her reflection. "How can I not tell you when you're with me?" 

Anguished brown eyes stared back at her. How could she expect to receive answers from a mirror? There was nothing to see there but her own cowardice. Everyday, she asked her question, and never received an answer. 

Brave in everything, except for what truly mattered. 

"I still love you, Harry."  

TBC


	8. Unspoken

**Chasing Harry **

By Passo

**Chapter Eight: Unspoken**

The bells chimed softly.   

Harry couldn't hear them, but he could see them, turning their silver chains slowly around. They were delicately beautiful, reflecting the light that bounced from the snow. 

"Who are you gonna give that to?" 

"What?" Harry turned from the bells to look at the speaker. Ron had suddenly turned up by his side, leaving Hermione to chat with Ginny a few meters away. The sixth years were in Hogsmeade and most of them were shopping around for Christmas presents, now that the most awaited day of the year was so near. 

"Those bells," Ron pointed. "You've been staring at them forever." 

"Well," Harry turned back to the display window. "They're lovely. I can almost hear them from here." 

"Why don't you just enter the shop and take a closer look?" 

"I don't want to. Maybe I will, someday. Or later. But not now." 

"Why?" Ron asked, puzzled. "You are interested in them, right? Where's the harm in that?" 

"I'm afraid they might sound less beautiful in real life," Harry answered wistfully, closing his eyes for a moment.  

"You're getting weirder every single day." The redhead shook his head, amused. Ron took Harry's arm and dragged him towards the girls. 

"Hey Gin, what are you two yakking about now?" he called towards his sister.  

She gave him a dirty look. "We're not yakking! We're talking about something that's relevant to the whole wizarding world." 

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "It's a bit chauvinistic of you to assume that just we're just gossiping whenever we girls talk to each other." 

"Did I say something offensive?" Ron turned to Harry for help. 

Harry shrugged, grinning. "I honestly wouldn't know." 

Ron grimaced. "You're no help at all. Anyway," he turned to the girls, "what earth-shattering news were you two talking about before I insensitively barged into your conversation?" 

"Tom Riddle," Ginny said breathlessly. 

"What about Tom Riddle?" Harry asked, his interest piqued. 

"You mean, you don't know?" Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "I thought you two were friends." 

"We are, I guess. But in truth, I haven't spoken to him in weeks. I don't really see him around except in class or during mealtimes but he's always over with the Slytherins. So, we haven't really spoken since he moved out of his former room." He wasn't in the mood to explain any further. 

"Hmph!" Ron frowned. "Some friend. He just dropped you once he weaseled his way into the Slytherins' affections."

_I drove him away. But he really couldn't say that, especially not to Ron. "I think we're  both just busy," Harry said simply. "Anyway, what's this news about Tom?" _

"He's going to stay with the Malfoys for Christmas!" Ginny burst out. The girls stared at the boys in anticipation. A pregnant pause followed as Ron just stared back blankly. 

"That's it?" he said, scratching his head. "That's the ultra-big, wizarding news that you've been discussing for a certain length of time?" His lips twitched, as he obviously tried to hide a smile. 

"It is important," Hermione insisted. "Everything Tom Riddle does is important." 

"Why? Is he the suddenly new and hot stud of Hogwarts?" 

"No, Ron, it's not that," Harry interrupted. Two tiny creases appeared between his brows as the information sank in. "It's the fact that he's staying with the Malfoys. Let's not forget who was Voldemort's most loyal servant during his blessedly short reign." 

"Yes, that's it. Well, he is hot." A light blush creeped over Ginny's cheeks. "But if Malfoy's getting a hold of him, then who knows what plans they may have afoot for Tom!" 

"And for everyone," Hermione finished. "I'm surprised that the school's administration hasn't done anything to stop them. After all, I'm sure that they've heard about it by now. Tom can't just leave Hogwarts and go traipsing about the lairs of those… killers." 

"Yeah, even if he was never imprisoned for lack of evidence, everyone knows what Lucius Malfoy was before and during the war." Ron ran a hand over his face. "You're right guys, this is serious. But I doubt if Dumbledore would do anything. After all, he wouldn't have a reason to, Lucius Malfoy was never convicted. The rich bastard will just raise up a stink if he ever learns that the teachers tried to stop Riddle from stepping inside their home." He glanced at Ginny. 

"And he is not hot." 

"Yes he is," Hermione grinned. "You just can't see it because you're a boy." 

"I cannot believe that we're talking about the kid version of Voldemort!" Ron exclaimed. "You, Harry, do you agree with me?" 

"Wh- what?!" Harry sputtered. He could feel the sudden heat rising from his collar. Damn! Why the hell was he reacting this way? 

"Well, is Riddle _hot or not?" Ron asked loudly. The girls were staring at him with interest. _

"Ron… I can't possibly answer that. Besides, that's a very far issue from our discussion." He ducked the question as safely as he could. With cautious eyes, Harry looked around. Nope, no one heard Ron's embarrassing query. Thank God. 

To Harry's relief, Ron took the bait. "You're right. To be honest, if something happens, I don't think the blame would lie with Malfoy alone." His tone darkened. "I don't exactly trust that Tom Riddle and his dramatics." 

"I'm sure that his apology was sincere," Harry countered. "He wouldn't do anything to hurt anyone unjustly. Remember, he's been through a lot." 

"Yeah, but he's a snake. And snakes are liars. Sorry, Harry, I know you got a bit of that power-thing with the language. But Riddle's different. Evil was mixed in his blood all the way back from Salazar Slytherin. I wouldn't be surprised if he's even related to Grindelwald." 

"To be honest… I'm not sure if I disagree with Ron," Hermione added hesitantly. "Maybe we've been too trusting with Tom. What do we know about him, after all? He has revealed very little about himself." 

"Not much," Ginny echoed, nodding. 

"I don't want to fight another war," Ron whispered. No one spoke after that. They knew how bad it had been, all the useless deaths of Magic folk and Muggles alike. It had been short but painful. Too painful. 

Harry could do nothing but stare helplessly. He wanted to defend Tom: the Tom he knew for a very short period. The Tom who looked back at the world with his sincere green eyes, far too old for his sixteen years. The same person who would not give in to his past. Yes, he wanted… needed… to believe him. 

But, even as he stood there, the bitter poison of doubt had started to take root in his mind. For he knew that Tom Riddle had no reason to tell him the complete truth. 

_How much of everything he had said was a lie? _

*** 

The object of their discussion was presently packing his bags with presents, even as they spoke. 

"You know, Tom, we wouldn't leave until Wednesday," Draco ventured a comment as he amusedly watched Tom pay for the not-so-small bundle of presents from Honeydukes. Aside from the present goods, the dark-haired Slytherin had excitedly shopped a storm around the town before he even met up with Draco after the two separated for a few hours. 

"Well, it's Saturday. And I have to prepare now if I mean to leave everyone a present before I leave with you or I'll never be able to get to it with all the schoolwork. Besides, this is my first Christmas after a very long time so I'm definitely making sure that everything turns out exactly the way I want them to be." 

Draco peered at the list Tom tucked into his pocket. "I didn't know you were so organized." 

"Heh. And you wonder why the house elves never complain about my part of the room." 

"Mine is just fine!" Draco replied defensively. "It isn't even the messiest." 

"Nope, Blaise's is," Tom said matter-of-factly. "But yours is a close second. Very close." 

Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm sure those sniveling house elves don't complain. They _love cleaning! Let's just forget about house elves and cleaning now, shall we? I don't want to lose my lunch this early in the afternoon thinking about me taking a mop to the floor." _

Tom grinned as he lightly socked Draco's arm. "You are such a snob. Aren't you buying anything for Christmas?" 

"Malfoys don't walk around carrying heavy bags full of awkward bundles." Draco sniffed. 

"How would you do your Christmas shopping then? Surely, you do intend to give out some presents, don't you?" 

"You are so low-tech, Tom. It's the twenty first century. Catalogues of course! I ordered everything by owl post." Draco smiled smugly. 

"I see. Well, little old-world Tom is taking quite a bit of time to adjust. Still…" Tom heaved a couple of shopping bags and dropped them by Draco's feet. "You're helping me carry these today." 

Draco's brow rose as he eyed the 'burden'. "You just expect me to do your bidding?" 

"Naturally," Tom nodded, eyes widening abit. Then, he added, just for effect. "Your present's in there." 

"Weeeeell…" 

"Or should I say present_s_?" 

"Okay." Draco pulled he bags up. "But just this once," he reminded Tom. "I don't want to be seen walking around like a lackey. Gads! I hope we won't run into anyone." 

Tom stifled a laugh as he carried the rest of his heavy packages. "Oh, we just went here with almost the whole sixth year batch. I doubt if we'll run into anyone who knows us." 

"I hate it when you're being sarcastic." Draco rolled his eyes, grinning. 

"But you already invited me for the whole Christmas vacation. You'd have to put up with me, then." 

"I can always un-invite you." 

"You can't do that!" 

"Yes I can." 

"No you can't." 

"Yes I can." 

"No you can't." 

"Yes I can." 

"No you can't" 

"Yes I can!" 

"Yes you can." 

"No I can't." 

"Hah!" 

"AAAARRRGGGH! I hate you!" 

Tom was sure even China could hear him laugh. 

It felt good. He hadn't laughed in a while. 

*** 

"Bye Harry!" Hermione hugged him as she said her goodbyes. "I'll be seeing you guys when I get back after the New Year." 

"Yeah," Ron replied, as she hugged him in turn. "We'll miss you." 

"You go have fun in Switzerland." Harry smiled. 

"I'm not exactly sure what you're going to do there, but I hope you'll have fun too," Ron added. 

"My whole family is going skiing!" Hermione said happily. "Isn't it great?" 

"What's skiing?" Ron asked. 

"She explained it to me earlier," Ginny answered for her. "It wouldn't do any good to repeat it as I can't imagine how people would have fun sliding down a mountain on sticks while holding two other sticks." 

Harry chuckled. "Well it's really a bit more than that." 

"Anyway," Ron waved them away, "forget the skiing. You take care of yourself, Herm. Don't go tripping over your sticks." 

"Skis," she corrected gently. With one last kiss to Ron's cheek, Hermione turned her back and walked away. She waved one last time before disappearing around the corner along with a few other sixth years that were leaving for Christmas. 

"Aww… I'm gonna miss Herm. But at least you guys aren't leaving." Harry faced Ron and Ginny. 

"Yeah, Mum and Dad are taking another trip with Charlie. They're off to Japan now. He's on a special project regarding those golden dragons. They're breeding them since they're nearly extinct." 

"Japan! Wow. You didn't want to go?" 

"They're staying for a month," Ginny answered. "We couldn't go anyway. There's school after two weeks or so." 

"Besides, we're keeping you company." Ron slung an arm around Harry's shoulders. "We can rock the whole place, we three." 

"Yeah, a whole two weeks of free time." Ginny grinned. 

"And I thought I could actually relax," Harry joked. In a way, he was glad. It was boring without his friends. At least they'd be able to spend the holidays together this year. 

*** 

_At least they'd be able to spend the holidays together this year. _

She was happy even as they spoke. Her joy held through the rest of the evening, especially during dinner while they all chatted together, laughing and fooling around with their food. Truly, she loved Hermione. But sometimes, she couldn't help but resent the girl for the obvious adoration she received from the two boys. 

Not that she was jealous for Ron's attention. She already had his. After all, she was his sister, his baby sister. 

It was Harry she wanted. 

And starting tonight, he would see only her… no one but her. And for the rest of the Christmas break, she would have only him. 

She laughed as she sat beside him during dinner, a seat that was usually there for Hermione to fill. And as Harry smiled at her for the first time that night, she made a resolve to never let anyone stand between them. 

Because really, weren't they meant to be? 

*** 

He wasn't really hungry. And he wanted to take the time alone to finish packing. 

Tom stood in front of his suitcase, eyeing his clothes critically. He didn't need much, and these would last for his whole visit. The presents took the most room. But he would be leaving most of them at Hogwarts anyway, for his friends who would be left behind at school. And the others were already on their way to their respective homes. 

But there was one he had not wrapped yet. 

He picked up the scarf, touching the soft wool between his fingers. It still looked like new, the red and gold colors brilliant against his skin. He moved his hands through their length, knowing what he was about to do. Against his better judgment, he lifted the scarf to his face and inhaled its scent, breathing in the spirit that was Harry… and the memories of that night came rushing back to his mind. 

He could almost feel him, hear him speak. Enjoy hearing his laughter fall from his marble lips. For he seemed to be that way: eternal, unchanging. Each glance, and each touch was remembered, the time and distance magnifying the scenes. Somehow, even as they promised to keep to their own lives, Tom found himself unable to forget. The memories of Harry bothered him, traitorously surprising him during unguarded moments for the past months. 

Often, he asked himself why? Was this merely an obsessive reaction from a wonderful night that he didn't want to let go of? Maybe it would go away in time… after all, non-communication might have greatly exaggerated his feelings. How long has it been since they had last spoken to each other? 

It had almost hurt him to not see Harry during that time. There were moments when he felt he couldn't fight the temptation. Especially at nights, when it rained. 

Then he would get the overwhelming desire to jump from his bed and run through the halls… somehow break into Gryffindor Tower just to see him. And ask him…

_What do feel about me? _

But he would always laugh at himself for thinking it. Bitter, sad laughter. For wasn't it Harry himself who rejected him? His feelings for Tom could not have been more clearly stated. 

He put the scarf down, damning it for making him remember. But it wasn't its fault. It was just funny how the whole night just seemed to cling to one scent, alive for the singular purpose of torturing him to remembrance. 

But it was sweet, the suffering. After Harry, the nightmares had lessened. 

They were replaced by green eyes. 

*** 

Tom shut the windows just as his roommates walked in through the door. 

"Are you ready to go?" Draco asked, patting his tummy. "Wow… that was a good dinner." 

"Probably 'cause a lot of people already left," Crabbe said, grinning. 

"Yeah, more food for us," Goyle added. 

"That's one way to see it." Tom raised a brow. He turned to Draco. "I'm ready, everything's packed." 

"Then we should get going. There's a coach waiting for us downstairs from my father." He took his own bags and was about to head out the door when something caught his eye. "Tom, something is tapping on the window." 

"Something?" He whirled around. "Oh! It's the owl!" 

"The owl?" Crabbe blinked. 

"Yes, I sent him out earlier for something. Oh wait, it's a different owl." Tom opened the window and let the school owl in, accepting the package that was clutched in its talons. 

"Who is it for?" Draco asked impatiently. 

"It's for me," Tom answered, puzzled. "I think it's an early Christmas present." 

"Open it in the coach so we can get an early start. Bye, Vince, Greg!" Draco waved as he disappeared out of the door. 

Before going out, Tom turned to Goyle. "Who's picking you up?" 

"My father," he answered soberly. Then he grinned. "Vince is staying with us for Christmas." 

"All right. See you when I see you!" With a last goodbye, Tom followed Draco out of the Slytherin dorms. 

Later, as Draco instructed the coachman outside how to arrange their bags in the back, Tom opened the package. In the darkness of the enclosure, the bells shone, reflecting the silver, distant light from the school. 

Tom's breath caught. It was his first Christmas present. Ever. 

There was a note attached: 

_Hang it somewhere where it'll be free._

_And think of me every time you listen._

_Merry Christmas!_

_-Harry_

He put it back in the box, speechless. But that didn't mean he couldn't smile. 

*** 

The scarf surprised him. 

Harry took it from the box, puzzled. Who would send him a Gryffindor scarf? Ron? No, Ron wasn't the type. 

The red and gold wool was folded carefully, and as he unfurled it, he saw what was lying underneath. He stared at the bottom of the box, mystified. This was getting stranger and stranger. 

He took the silver and green Slytherin scarf out, catching the note that fell out with it. 

_You left something. _

_So I'm leaving you with something. _

_Happy Holidays, _

_Tom_

_P.S. I didn't forget._

Harry shook his head. He probably left the scarf with Tom long ago. He knew he was missing one. But he didn't get the reason why Tom sent him his own. He smiled as he wrapped it around his neck. But he wasn't complaining. 

However, Harry understood the last part very well. 

For he hadn't forgotten either. 

He looked out the window just in time to see the snow start to fall that night. Somehow, he felt that Tom would never be really far from him, no matter where he went. 

-TBC-


	9. Glory

**Chasing Harry **

By Passo

**Chapter Nine: Glory **

"Draco, he's wearing an eye-patch!" 

"Ah, yes. That's Great-Great-Grand-Uncle Cato Malfoy. He ran around with pirates until his father ordered him to come home due to a family emergency. Naturally, he did, but he also brought home a pregnant wife—a Muggle wife. They later died under mysterious circumstances when their Chateau in France burned down.  There were no survivors, not even house-elves." 

"That's… interesting," Tom muttered with a doubtful expression. They both stared at Uncle Cato's smiling portrait for a full minute. The Pirate-wizard did have an eye-patch and sported a full blond beard that covered half his face. However, his smile was still evident in spite of the substantial amount of hair, and he cheerily waved back at them with his hook—where his left hand used to be. 

"Your family has always been against Muggles." It wasn't a question. 

Draco glanced at him. "Yes. It's been wired into each of us from the day we were born. We Malfoys have had incredible misfortunes brought to us by Muggle-borns over the centuries, and we all want to avoid that from happening again. There have been a few, like Uncle Cato, who disagreed and rebelled by living amongst Muggles for a while. And look what befell them: they all died horribly or lived miserable lives soon after." 

"And you? What do you think?" 

"Me?" Draco shrugged. "I agree with the family. I don't like Muggles, and I don't think I ever will." 

Tom laughed softly. "That's rather a lie, don't you think? I'm half-muggle, if you really think about it." 

"Yes, in a way. But you're different," Draco protested. "You don't like them either." 

It was, in more ways than one, a rather disturbing answer. Tom frowned. "How exactly do you see me, Draco?" 

Draco was saved from answering by the abrupt arrival of Lucius. The Lord of Malfoy Manor came towards them, fastening his outer cloak as he walked briskly. 

"Draco, Tom, I'm sorry I missed your arrival last night. It was rather late and Narcissa and I had gone to bed early. How was the trip?" 

"It was fine, Father.  We arrived quite late due to a nasty pothole that sank one of the wheels in mud. Luckily, the horseman knew a nifty spell to correct that little misfortune, but it took us forever to make the carriage move. I think it was traumatized." Draco grinned. 

"That's strange. I shall look into the matter of that carriage as soon as I can. It's a good thing you arrived safely." Lucius turned to Tom, sizing up the young man shrewdly. "Tom, welcome to the Manor. I hope you'll find your stay pleasant while you're here." 

"Thank you. You have a magnificent home, sir. Your son was kind enough to invite me to share the holidays with you and your family." 

A smile broke on Lucius' face. It looked quite unusual on him, as if he wasn't used to wearing such a cheery expression. "The pleasure is all mine, Tom. It is all mine," he repeated slowly. "Now, I hope you boys will excuse me for the morning. I need to pay a visit to one of my oldest friends. Have you had your breakfast?" 

"Not yet." Draco shook his head. "We're on our way to the dining room. I was just introducing some of our interesting Malfoy ancestors to Tom while we passed." 

"Narcissa should be waiting downstairs. She was excited about planning the meal for both of you. Have a good day." 

"Bye," both boys echoed as they watched him disappear into the hallway that leads to the staircase. 

"Your father…" Tom said later. "He seems happy this morning." 

"He's glad to have you here, you see. The news spread quickly: Tom Riddle is staying with the Malfoys during the whole Christmas break. We're the envy of all our friends." Draco laughed. "It's like before, the honor came to the family where You-Know-Who chose to spend the night during his brief forays with civilization." 

That struck Tom as funny. He laughed along with Draco, laying a hand on the wall for support. "That's rich. That's really rich." They laughed until they reached the door to the breakfast room, where Narcissa was waiting with their meal on the table. 

"It's just too bad though," Tom said quietly, just before they entered. 

"What is?" 

"It's too bad that I'm not Voldemort." He twisted the knob and opened the door, a smile fixed on his face for the benefit of Draco's mother, ignoring the surprised look on his friend's face right after he said the words. 

They were true, after all. 

And if it were up to him, he would never be Voldemort. 

~ 

"You let him go?" Coal black eyes narrowed to slits as Severus Snape stared at Albus Dumbledore in anger. "We entrusted you to him! And you let him go?!" 

"Stop it, Severus!" Sirius Black stood and faced the angry Professor. "Remember who you're speaking to. Albus has a reason for leaving the boy to his decisions." 

"He is not just a boy," Severus seethed, facing his boyhood nemesis. "Tom Riddle is smart. Brilliant even. He is also a ticking time bomb! And we couldn't possibly leave him in Lucius Malfoy's hands after everything that happened before!" 

Sirius' brows furrowed. "He can decide where he wants to stay for Christmas. Unlike you, not everyone wants to spend their holidays working over a pile of smelly potions!" 

"I had my reasons for letting him go," the previously silent Headmaster interrupted their heated argument. Albus touched his fingertips together thoughtfully. "You don't have to worry about his well-being. I assure you that he is protected far more securely than you think." 

"Who's watching him?" Severus asked. 

"That I cannot reveal, for reasons that I hope you'd understand. I'm merely protecting the identities of the people involved." 

"Protecting their identities!" Severus exploded. "I cannot see why—" 

Remus Lupin, who had not spoken a word since the meeting started, suddenly interrupted, "But that's not what we're really worried about," He glanced worriedly at Sirius before uttering the next words. "We know that he is just a child, but is no longer innocent in the ways of the Dark Arts. We don't know how his mind runs, or why he chose to follow that path years ago. It may be Tom, himself, whom we can't completely trust." 

Albus straightened on his seat and sighed. "That remains to be seen." 

~ 

"I haven't even finished unpacking." Tom tapped his tummy as he and Draco walked along the Malfoy gardens after breakfast. The ground was covered with freshly fallen snow, and most of the branches were bare, except for a few evergreen shrubs here and there. Narcissa Malfoy had prepared a filling meal, and both boys had tucked in enthusiastically. "I just fell on the bed and slept with all my clothes on last night." 

"Yeah, that magical carriage was a headache!" Draco wrinkled his nose. "It's new, you see. Nimbus released a new model in their carriage line, and of course, we just had to have one of those fast, horseless and thestraless things everyone was raving about. There's just one glitch—" 

"—They're very emotionally sensitive," Tom finished, laughing. 

"Right!" Draco agreed. 

They walked for a while, without speaking, before Tom stopped. He stared at one of the bushes for a moment, and suddenly crouched near one, cradling a frail blue blossom with his hand. It stood out against the dark green leaves, bright in the snow's reflected light. "What is this called?" he asked Draco, staring at it fixatedly. 

"I don't know," Draco answered, puzzled. "It's Mother who takes care of these plants. We can ask her later." 

"No, it's not important." Tom smiled, a faraway look on his face. "When I was younger, there was only one thing I really treasured. It was a letter from her. The parchment smelt like flowers—these flowers—and she always smelled like that whenever she held me in my dreams. 

"My mother felt the need to tell me how she loved me, even just in writing, before she finally took her life and left me alone." 

"She took her life?" Draco blurted out, shocked. He had always thought that Tom's mother had died in childbirth. Apparently, the truth was more painful than that. 

"Yes, didn't you know?" He glanced at Draco, slightly surprised. "I suppose I never told anyone before. By that time, no one even cared. She had left her family and her home to be with him—and all he did in return was leave her alone with a baby he didn't want."   

"Tom… why are you telling me this?" Draco asked, slightly worried. The Tom in front of him was the same person he had seen, for a mere second, while they were at Honeydukes months ago. It was a different person from the Tom he knew—this was the boy who had been a Dark Lord. 

"Because you never did answer my question." Tom stood and faced Draco, putting his hands on his shoulder. He sighed, imploring his friend with his eyes. "I need to hear it from you. What do you think of me, my friend?" 

They were green. Intense. Tom stared at him desperately, as if he needed to find for the answer he had been wishing to hear. What else could Draco possibly say but the truth? 

"You?" The seconds stretched. "You're my friend who loves to eat spider crunchies—which is disgusting, in my opinion. But it's all right, I still accept you." 

The green eyes widened, blinked. Tom opened his mouth in surprise. And he laughed. He laughed, loudly, punching Draco on the shoulder with mirth. "Sometimes, Draco, you just kill me." 

"I know, Tom." He hid a grin, slinging an arm around Tom's shoulders. "I know." 

They walked on, silent all the way to the end of the vast garden. 

It was the truth. And it was exactly what Tom needed to hear. 

~ 

"Draco!" 

"Greg?" Draco woke. He had been dozing in the library, lounged comfortably onto one of the big, plushy couches they had there when he thought he had heard Gregory Goyle's voice. "Tom, I think I dreamt about Greg." 

"It's not a dream, you ninny." Tom tossed him a piece of rolled up parchment, hitting Draco squarely on cheek. "Greg really is here. And Vince, too." 

"Heya, Tom!" Vincent Crabbe waved to them cheerily from the library door. Both newcomers entered the room and sat beside a dumbfounded Draco. 

"What in the world are you two doing here?" He exclaimed, rubbing one eye with his right hand. 

"Father had to leave for a few days. He thought it would be better for us to stay here with you while he's gone than move around the house alone. So Mr. Malfoy picked us up," Greg explained slowly. 

"Mr. Goyle said he'd be back just before Christmas, and that we'd all spend it together. Isn't that great?" Vincent asked excitedly. 

"Well, yes. Of course that would be fun." Draco smiled leisurely. "I didn't expect we'd have more company. But I'm glad you two are here." 

"That reminds me… Draco, what are you doing in the library?" Greg asked, mystified. "I didn't know you liked to read so much." 

"Normally I'd play Quidditch. But this guy here," Draco tossed the scrunched-up parchment back at Tom, who ducked just in time, "insisted on wasting a perfectly good afternoon among the musty books of our magnificent collection." 

"Hah! I wouldn't get on a broomstick even if you paid me," Tom sniffed. He picked a slim volume and showed it to them. "Look at this! _Magic Between Points_ by Frida Mathilde, the legendary Mage of the 18th Century. She outlined the basic guidelines of how she controls her magic even without a wand. This is a very rare book and is hardly found anywhere else. Of course, it's rather hard and it works very rarely but it's still an interesting read and is much more useful than an afternoon on a broomstick—" He suddenly stopped. They were all staring at him with disbelieving eyes.  "What?" 

"I would really much rather play Quidditch," Vince blurted out. 

Draco smirked. "Tom is our resident geek. He needs to feed his brain at least once an hour or he'll feel stupid like us broomstick enthusiasts." 

"Oh, all right! Let's go play your ridiculous game." Shaking his head, Tom arranged the books on a neat pile before standing. "Honestly, children today have no culture." 

"And who are you to say that?" 

"For your information, I was born fifty years before you!" 

"Yeah, but you spent the whole time in a diary with zero intellectual and emotional growth." 

"Don't remind him," Vince whispered. "He's sensitive about his height. He thinks he's too tall." 

Tom swore he could feel the veins throb in his head. "Vince, how the hell did the… Never mind. Let's just go." 

Draco stifled his laughter and opened the door. "So, Tom, you _are_ going to play, am I right?" 

"Not on your life." He adjusted his scarf with dignity and said, "But I am going to watch." 

~ 

"It's too dangerous." Lucius tried to keep the worry from his voice, but Taylor knew exactly how he felt. They had known each other for more than twenty years, and he could read Lucius like a book, no matter how the blond tried to keep his thoughts in check. "I should be the one going." 

"No. I know the area more than you do," Taylor countered. He suddenly smiled, the sides of his brown eyes crinkling softly. "Besides, you'd just get lost there. Or get kidnapped. I heard the Romanian wizards are very fond of blonds." 

"This isn't the time to be funny." Lucius raised a brow, frowning at his companion. "I was serious. Be careful. Our whole operation rests on your success. We may never have a chance like this." 

"And I thought you were really worried about me," Taylor joked. He glanced up at the Manor's gates, before looking back at Lucius. "Was it wise to bring my son with you?" 

"Yes. Gregory and Vincent could provide ample distraction… when the time comes." 

"Of course. It is always our Lord that matters." He lost the smile. He stepped away from Lucius and prepared to Apparate. "Take care of yourself, Lucius." 

"I'll do that. And you…" Taylor disappeared in a flash. "…you take care," Lucius finished. 

He just hoped he could hear him from afar. 

~ 

She laughed, loving the fact that she had already spent two whole days with him. Ron was easy to persuade. He would, after all, do anything his baby sister asked of him… even letting Harry alone for hours on end. 

"So what do you think of my game?" she smiled, touching his arm lightly. 

"You played well, Gin. It's a very big improvement from last year." The sweat clung to his forehead, the dark hair transformed into wet, black locks that still dripped when he moved. 

He was beautiful. 

Beautiful to her. She smiled. She would surely have him before New Year. She could feel it in her heart. For he _must_ love her back. Didn't he? 

Harry stopped. A strange cold feeling crept up his back. It disappeared almost instantly after he felt it. What was that supposed to be? A warning? He frowned, disturbed. 

"Harry, what is it?" Ginny's voice brought him back to the present. 

"Nothing. It was just… I was just feeling a little dizzy." 

"Tsk, tsk. You practice too hard. Here," she reached out, "take my hand. I'll walk you to your room and make sure you won't fall." 

He doubted if she could support him if the moment came. Still, he was thankful for her help. And if he really thought about it, she had been highly supportive of him especially since the start of the break. "Thank you Ginny," Harry smiled. "I really appreciate this." 

She looked down. "It's no trouble, no trouble at all." _As long as you stay with me_. 

~ 

-_December 23_- 

He waited in the dark at the road down the back of the Manor near the forests. His face was almost covered by his large black cloak. The man's footsteps were hurried, nervous. He was obviously waiting for somebody. But who? 

A carriage rolled onto the road. It was running too fast for it's size, and it would've hit the waiting man if the horseman had not pulled the reins quickly, frightening the horse as it kicked its hooves to the air. 

Lucius approached the carriage eagerly. "Is he there?" 

Taylor nodded. He jumped off the driver's seat and opened the door of the carriage, revealing the passenger inside. 

Lucius stared in awe before he spoke, "He is waiting." 

From the darkness inside, a hand spotted with age reached out and grasped Lucius' wrist. "Good. I would need him pliant." 

"As you wish, my lord." 

~ 

_Where was he? _

Lucius searched frantically through the Manor. He needed Tom. Now! 

_Where would the children go on a cold night like this…? _

He passed the library and nearly walked past it. He knew Draco never read at this hour, so he assumed that his friends would not either. He noticed someone inside and did a double-take. 

"Tom!" 

Tom looked up, surprised. He had not noticed Lucius approaching. He was too engrossed in the book he was reading. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy?" 

"I would need your help for a moment with a package." Smile, Lucius. Relax. "Would you be kind enough to assist me for a while?" 

"Certainly," Tom agreed easily. He stood from his chair, eyes downcast. Later, much later, he would curse himself for forgetting the past, even for an instant. He knew who Lucius Malfoy was, and what he was capable of. He just never admitted it to himself that the nightmare could come alive one more time. 

He never did see the wand, much less the spark of the spell that hit him. 

Lucius closed his eyes. It had been a while, and even if this was his Lord, he still savored the pleasure of giving it. "_Imperio_." 

~ 

The world was a blur, and he was merely a speck on the confusion. 

"It has been a while, child." 

"What?" Tom's vision swam. He tried to sit up, but soon found that he could not. His body refused to move from the bed where he was lain. His legs and arms were merely heavy, useless stumps. And why was it dark? "Who—" 

"I'm surprised you don't remember. You had come to seek once before. But of course! You were different then. Still, I'm very pleased to see you again. I had, after all, put a lot of my hopes on you a long time ago." The invisible voice bent nearer. He could sense his age, and also the danger. Tom could feel the warmth of a body come closer to him. At that moment, he despised himself for fearing it—fearing him. "I have waited for you to come again." Hot breath swept over his cheeks. 

"Who are you?" he sounded apprehensive, and he knew it. If only he could see! Please, let him see! 

"He can speak!" The stranger's voice sharpened. It was directed at someone else. "You said he was under the _Imperius_." 

"He resists it well," Lucius Malfoy? 

"Should he be under that spell?" Another voice, it sounded worried. This one was familiar to Tom, but he couldn't think clearly in his present condition. 

He tried to will himself to move, but he couldn't. His mere effort was making him tired and he felt the strength of the Imperius taking over his will with each passing second. Soon, he might pass out once more. 

"No." It was the stranger once again. "Take it off." 

His limbs lightened all of a sudden. But before he could even think of getting away, something else hit him. 

Suddenly, he was falling. 

Down, where it was too deep to see. 

The pit was endless. Ice cold. And he was alone. 

~ 

"Tom." 

He opened his eyes. He was back in the mists. It was the same place, in a different dream. "Am I dreaming again?" 

"No. This is very real." The dark eyes gleamed. "You should be thankful." 

Tom frowned. "Thankful? Why? You merely confuse me. Tell me exactly what you have to say." 

Rich, chilling laughter echoed through the air. The sound was thick, traveling through the murky atmosphere that swirled around their bodies. As far as Tom could see, nothing had changed. There was just him, and this man. The smoke writhed faster, flowing with their conversation. "Do you remember what I asked you the last time we met?" 

"Yes," he answered hesitantly, a few moments later. "You said… you said you were me." 

"I wasn't lying." The dark stranger stepped nearer, taking the boy's hands in his own. "This has always been our home. This is _our_ place, where we become one person." 

"Wh- what are you trying to do?" The cold shivered down his back. He was no longer afraid, but he also held a terrible fascination for the wizard. Tom could sense his power, and his strength. The magic trembled where they touched, and he dared not think of what he planned to do with him. 

"Tom Riddle," the wizard whispered. He released his hands, holding the boy's shoulders gently instead. Slowly, he kissed Tom's forehead. It was fleeting, soft—it was everything the boy had never expected. 

Tom felt a long finger travel down his chest. All of a sudden, he felt a cold blade pierce through his skin, and saw the warm blood gush through his robe. He stared at himself in horror as the pain slowly traveled in heated waves over his icy skin. 

"Who are you?" he gasped. 

"Don't you recognize me?" The wizard's eyes widened. "We are both his sons—the sons of Slytherin." 

Was it— _No!_ Tom shook his head as he tried to banish the thought that entered his head. "No, it couldn't be." He bent, the pain almost overcoming all of his strength. 

"Yes, it won't be long now," Grindelwald smiled. "Succeed where I have failed. Make me proud once more." 

~ 

The dagger glittered, crimson beneath the faint rays of the moon. The old wizard's tired eyes lighted in triumph as he witnessed the transformation before his gaze. 

"My brother, I see you." 

~ 

Taylor stood outside the door, the worry evident in his expression. "He doesn't sound good." 

"Then don't listen." Lucius touched his arm, prodding him gently to turn away. "Let's go. We shouldn't even be here." 

"How can I possibly stay away? Our Lord is there, inside—they have been locked in that room for a whole night and I have heard nothing but pain! Lucius, have we been foolish with trusting him?" 

"Do you know what you're saying?" Lucius turned to him angrily. "You are speaking about the only wizard in this world who could possibly turn Tom Riddle into the man he used to be—the Lord he is supposed to become! This is not the time to start doubting what we have started." He grabbed Taylor's shoulders and shook him, his voice urgent. "Do you realize the importance of what is happening in there? Do you?!" 

"I do!" He shrugged Lucius' hands off, scowling. "But I can't help thinking… he is only just a boy. Powerful, yes, but still a child. Lucius, he could even be your son!" 

A shadow passed over Lucius' eyes, but they disappeared in a moment. "He is very, very different from Draco." He gazed back at the closed door. "He had done this to himself once. He should be able to withstand it at least one more time." 

"You are speaking of the man who died. He was much older then," Taylor argued. "This is a whole new experience for this boy, he may even be unripe for it. He is the same, but who knows if he holds different thoughts or different goals. Our Lord was driven by a dream. This boy has killed that dream within, if we are to believe what he said before." 

"Ah, but you said it yourself." Lucius' mouth twitched. "_If_." 

A wrenching scream tore through the dividing door, startling both men back to reality. 

"It's just like you to doubt everything when it's too late to turn back." Lucius glanced at his companion defiantly. "It's too late now. It is done." 

"No." Taylor shook his head, sighing. "It has just begun." 

~ 

"NOOO!" Harry sat up from his bed, screaming. He stared at the air, eyes wide, gasping. A minute later, he placed a hand on his chest and inhaled deeply, willing his breath to slow to its normal pace. The sheets were soaked with his sweat. 

"Nightmare?" Ron groaned sleepily from his bed. 

"Huh? Yes," Harry answered. He gulped, swallowing the painful lump that blocked his throat. "It was just a dream." 

"Oh." Ron turned to the other side, facing his back to his roommate. "Go to sleep, Harry. It's still bloody dark outside." 

Harry lay down hesitantly. He doubted if he could sleep again. This was no ordinary nightmare. It felt too real, and too familiar. He had felt the pain like it was his own, and saw the blood on his own skin. And his scar… his scar had burned when he screamed. 

But it couldn't be. Voldemort was dead, wasn't he? 

He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. _Forget it, Harry. It was just a silly nightmare. Stop thinking about the past_. 

He had calmed down somewhat, and was almost on his way to sleep, when a familiar ache stung through his forehead. Harry's eyes snapped opened. This was no dream! 

He saw those eyes—the same green that stared down at him with longing that one night, long ago, when they allowed themselves to forget. But they were different now, for they were filled with fear… fear and something else. Something unspeakable. 

"Tom," he whispered, aghast. "Tom is in danger!" 

-TBC-


	10. Unbroken

Chasing Harry

By Passo

Chapter 10: Unbroken

***

His sleep was troubled.

He couldn't erase the vision of Tom in his mind - he was suffering, and Harry felt helpless merely staying here, cocooned in his safe world that was Hogwarts. He lay in a limbo between dreams and reality, neither asleep nor awake, and when he stood from his bed as the sun rose, he felt tired - like he had weathered more pain than his usual Quidditch practices employed.

But still, he hesitated. It could have been just a dream.

He stayed awake for almost an hour after that, trying to see if his scar would hurt some more. But it no longer stung, and Harry soon lost himself back to his dreams.

***

Draco stepped onto the corridor quietly, his thick socks and slippers muffling his footsteps. He was worried. He had not seen Tom since yesterday and he wasn't happy with the new house-elf's excuses saying that the Young Master Riddle had gone with Master Malfoy.

Normally, Draco wouldn't have been worried about his father as Lucius was in the habit of leaving for days and weeks without even warning them until later. But Tom? Why would his father bring Tom with him? He squashed the germ of suspicion that threatened to grow in his mind the instant he realized what he was thinking. No, his father would never do that. He would never lead Tom to danger. He promised.

Besides, Draco had this feeling that Tom wasn't far. And that Lucius was nearby too.

He entered Tom's bedroom. There should be something here that he left. A note, perhaps? He had known Tom for only a few months but it was enough to know that the boy was not the type to flee without warning.

His eyes landed on the suitcase beside the bed. Tom had not finished unpacking yet. True to form, he had refused to have the house-elf unpack for him, preferring to arrange his things himself. He couldn't help but smile a bit. They had been having too much fun for him to unpack. Draco hesitated before opening the latch. He didn't like to mess with his friend's personal effects, but Tom had been missing for more than a day. Surely, this was enough reason to search among his things for a clue or anything that might point to where he may be right now.

But after a few minutes, he still had nothing. Aside from his clothes and a few books and school things, there wasn't anything suspicious in Tom's suitcase. Draco glanced up and saw the box on the bed. He couldn't remember Tom bringing a box with him... Oh yes! This was the package delivered by the owl just before they left school. But from whom?

Carefully, Draco opened the box and took out its contents. Bells? Who would give Tom bells for Christmas? As far as he knew, the only friends the other boy had were the Slytherins, and they sure wouldn't give him bells. He took the card out of the envelope and read what it said.

A few seconds later, the card fell from Draco's shocked fingers. _[Hang it somewhere where it'll be free.]_ Tom was still communicating with him? Of course he was! Those two had been rather close acquaintances before. But that was before, right?

[And think of me every time you listen.] What had passed between them? He couldn't help but wonder. Was it something special? So secret that Tom would not even mention his name in the months that they had been roommates at Slytherin.

[Merry Christmas!] And then there were those looks... those stray glances that Draco had caught him making over the Great Hall that day long ago. They were never repeated, and he had almost forgotten them. Until this moment.

Why was he upset over a simple present?_ [Harry.] _He had picked up the card again, only now, it was rumpled - squashed savagely inside his palm. He knew why he was upset. Of course, it was not something he could easily say out loud to the others, his family, or even to Tom himself. It was his fault; he had been too weak then. But it was a weakness he had willfully participated in.

He tipped the box over carelessly, letting the tiny crafted bells spill onto the sheets with their chains. It was funny how such an innocent-looking thing almost made him forget the real reason why he was here.

***

"Harry, how was your sleep?" Ron suddenly asked during breakfast the next day. Ginny's spoon stopped on its way to her mouth.

"Me? Fine, fine," Harry answered. "Why'd you ask?"

"Nothing." Ron shook his head. "I just thought I heard you make some noise some time last night only I was just too sleepy to get up."

"It was just a nightmare." Harry dismissed it with a wave. It wouldn't do to worry his friend with tales of his scar that he wasn't even sure were true. Knowing Ron, he'd probably panic and insist upon telling Dumbledore, especially now that Hermione wasn't around to knock some sense into the both of them. It would be too much trouble for a nightmare.

"It must have been some nightmare. You yelled loudly enough to wake me up, and God knows it takes a lot to do that," Ron chuckled.

"Um, yeah, it was pretty intense." He quickly took a huge bite off his breakfast muffin to keep Ron from asking any more questions. Until the end of the war, Harry never found it comfortable to discuss this unwanted link that he had with the Dark Lord, no matter how valuable it had been for their side. It was just too strange, for him at least.

Later, as Harry stepped into the boy's bathroom near the Transfigurations classroom, he felt his forehead burn once more. It was quick, quicker than last night. But now that he was awake, he recognized the unmistakable sign of pain. He rushed to the mirror and stared at his reflection, breathing deeply. With shaking fingers, he pushed the hair on his forehead aside and revealed his scar.

It's impossible! Why would it hurt now? I killed him! I killed Voldemort! Tom could not possibly send out these signs. Or could he?

But the puckered skin merely stayed there, silent. He hated this state - his hesitation. Somehow, he had to do something. Then, in a sudden moment of clarity, Harry knew what he had to do.

***

"Dobby?" he called out in the kitchens. The light was rather dim, and it was very cold in the halls beneath the main floors of the castle. Where were the house-elves?

"Harry Potter?"

Harry jumped in surprise and glanced down only to find Dobby staring up at him with the same adoring look that had never left his face from the moment Harry freed him from the Malfoys. Harry smiled in relief as he knelt on one knee and gently placed his hands over Dobby's thin shoulders.

"Dobby, I'm going to do something very important… and I need you to come with me," he said seriously.

The house-elf started. "Yes, yes," he nodded eagerly. "Dobby will go wherever Harry Potter asks him to. But where is Harry Potter going?"

With a determined set in his jaw, Harry declared, loud enough for only Dobby to hear, "To rescue a friend."

***

"Over here!" Dobby pointed as they neared a small clearing in forest they had been flying over the past hour. "We can land here. It's safe."

Harry squinted and looked at the distant figure of Malfoy Manor. The sun was on its last minutes of glory, and darkness was coming hard and fast over the area. He had waited until it was safe to leave the school without being noticed. "Are you sure, Dobby? The Manor is still quite far."

"We can't fly over the Manor grounds. It's dangerous," Dobby answered anxiously. "Harry Potter will be better off walking."

"Well, if you say so." Harry cast a diminishing charm on his Firebolt and pocketed the miniature broomstick. "We better start walking fast."

Their short journey was mostly silent, with Dobby leading the way. They traveled fast over the forest grounds, as the house-elf seemed to have mastered every inch of the Malfoys' property. There was hardly any light left and Harry could barely see his way as the thick evergreens blocked the moonlight. But Dobby would not allow him to cast a light charm, saying that they would surely be caught.

Harry had told Dobby earlier of his decision to take Tom away from Malfoy Manor, as he believed that either Lucius or Draco, or even both, had done something to harm him. Though not entirely convinced that Tom was indeed in danger, Dobby agreed to help Harry by leading him to the Manor undetected, with the stipulation that he won't be made to enter the Manor itself. Apparently, freed house-elves didn't enter their former master's homes, believing that they'd be cursed if they did. Harry had agreed, as he didn't want to put anyone else in danger. Knowing where Malfoy lived and getting there was good enough for him.

"We're here," Dobby whispered. They were crouched among some thick, bald bushes, facing a tall, blank stone wall about six feet away. "There's a door if you walk right straight to the right. It's small, house-elf size, and looks exactly like a part of the wall. Knock on the fifth stone from the ground, eighth from the corner and it'll open. It leads to the kitchens. Just look for the stairs that'll take you to the main rooms."

"Thanks, Dobby." Harry took out his Invisibility cloak. "I wouldn't have gotten this far without you."

"Dobby has to go now." The little elf was looking a little pale, and was starting to act a little fidgety. Considering what he might have seen during his service with the Malfoys, Harry thought that Dobby's fear was justified. "Good luck, Harry Potter." And with a click of his fingers, Dobby was gone.

Harry took a deep breath, covered himself with his Invisibility Cloak, and stood from the bushes. The night was bright the grounds, or at least what he saw of it, was pretty clear. There was no one lurking about to see him. Still he kept his cloak tight around him and stayed close to the wall. The sheer size of this wing was amazing, and Harry could only imagine how big the whole Manor was, with all its gardens and rooms.

He reached the corner and started counting the stone bricks. Finding the one Dobby described, Harry gave it a hard knock and watched the opening appear before his eyes, much like the wall behind the Leakey Cauldron. The door was indeed small, for it reached only to his waist. And, bending down quickly, Harry disappeared into the Malfoys' kitchens.

***

"Draco?"

Draco didn't reply. He just glanced at his father for a second before continuing to stare blankly at the wall opposite his bed.

"I was looking for you."

He laughed bitterly. "That's funny. You see, I was looking for you." He looked at Lucius sullenly. "Where is Tom?"

"Why ask me?" Lucius Malfoy raised his brows.

"You lied, Father." Draco's tone didn't even change. "You said you'd see what you can do to help him, when in fact, it was you who wanted me to be involved."

"I didn't at first." Lucius sat on the bed and tried to touch Draco's arm. His son jerked away roughly. "I understand how you feel, but you must also understand where I'm coming from."

"You just want the past to repeat itself again. Aren't you satisfied with what we have right now?" He raised himself into a sitting position and looked at Lucius in the eye. "What if it ends up worse this time? You know how lucky we are that nothing worse happened aside from your brief vacation in Azkaban."

"That's exactly the reason why I'm doing this." Lucius grasped Draco's wrists tightly. "We want to mend that mistake. We failed, Draco, and look where it got us - almost everyone on our side is either dead or in prison. With Tom here, we have a chance to succeed." A fanatical light glowed in his eyes. "Our Lord came back for a reason."

Draco looked away. "Don't include me in your ridiculous plans."

"I'm not forcing you to." His voice calm once more, Lucius released his son. "I only expect one thing from you," a warning tone entered his voice, "don't try to stand in our way." Lucius got up and walked to the door.

He didn't waste his breath trying to argue. "I want you to promise me one thing…" Draco said before his father disappeared into the hall.

"And that is?"

"I don't want him hurt."

Lucius blinked. "We won't let him suffer more than he can take," he said with finality before leaving and closing the door behind him.

Draco sighed. He knew that was the best promise that he could get from his father. He lay back on the bed staring at something hanging from his four-poster bed. Angrily, he kicked at it and savored the small feeling of satisfaction as he watched the bells fall to the floor.

***

Harry tried to walk as quietly as possible. He had not encountered anyone so far in the large house ever since he entered it, not even a house-elf. It was hard to believe, but it was highly possible that no one but the Malfoys and a few servants lived here in this sprawling place. Ron would consider it an extravagant waste of space, especially since The Burrow could easily fit into one of the Manor's spacious halls.

He tightened his Invisibility Cloak against him. In spite of his relative relief that he hasn't been caught yet, he wasn't any nearer to finding Tom. In the past few minutes, Harry had started to feel ridiculous - flying into enemy territory all alone impulsively. What if he had been wrong all the time and Tom wasn't even hurt? Only silence met his question.

Just when he was feeling particularly lost, Harry heard the distant sound of footsteps. It seemed to be getting nearer. For a moment, he panicked, his eyes automatically looking for a place to hide as his hand groped for his wand. Then he remembered… he was invisible. Finding a dark space in the wall, Harry tried to make himself as small as possible and held his breath as Lucius Malfoy came into view.

The lord of Malfoy Manor walked purposely, his eyes directed straight ahead. He passed Harry without sensing his presence and turned a corner. Acting instinctively, Harry followed him.

***

The pain would not disappear.

Sometimes, it dissolved into a lingering ache, his body throbbing dully as he imagined the blood seeping slowly out of his wounds. But on moments when he was strong enough to raise his arm, Tom ran his hands through his skin and found it smooth - unbroken.

It was strange, this pain. There were moments when he could barely feel it. But most of the time, it was sharp, so much that it overpowered his strength and sent his slipping into unconsciousness just so he'd stop feeling it. But it didn't end there. Visions, bloody scenes of the past haunted his sleep. The cries of the dying tortured him, until Tom found that he much preferred to stay awake and weather the pain.

He didn't remember what time it was, or even what day it was. It seemed like forever since he saw Lucius approach him in the library. The minutes blurred together since then and each second stretched into one long symphony of pain.

Flashes of the blade interrupted his sleep, and he would wake, gasping… and find nothing. He was alone. He had thought it would never end - the torture. Just thinking of what took place made the bile rise in his throat, only he was too weak to actually sit up and vomit. He was too weak to do anything. It was much better to just sleep and hope that the nightmares would leave him alone.

He closed his eyes.

And when he opened them an eternity later, he saw Harry Potter.

***

"Tom!" Harry whispered urgently. He tried to hide it, but he was horrified with what he found.

He had followed Lucius out of the Manor, managing to stay a safe distance away yet keeping the blond man in sight. It was difficult, for he knew that Lucius Malfoy wasn't a fool and would surely hear the slightest noise he made. He followed him all the way outside, past the moonlit frozen ground, and entered the forest he had left less than an hour ago. Harry had breathed easier, for the trees and the forest noise served as sufficient cover. He just had to watch his step more carefully as the snow made the uneven ground a lot more slippery than usual.

He had watched Lucius meet a man outside a dilapidated-looking wooden hut. He watched them confer for a few minutes, their voices too low for him to hear. But there was an overall urgent look with the way they stood. The tall, dark-haired man threw his hands in the air and gestured to the hut angrily as they argued. But Lucius seemed to have won as the other gave up and followed him back to the Manor. Harry stayed exactly where he was hiding, for he had a hunch about that hut. He let the minutes pass, and when he was sure that the two men were safely far from him, he stealthily approached the small dwelling and opened the door.

***

"Harry?" Tom whispered weakly.

The face blurred in front of him. He must be dreaming. Yes, he was. Harry couldn't possibly be here in this hellhole. The illusion's green eyes widened, and the mouth opened, saying soundless words that didn't reach his ears. Tom blinked tiredly. He must be sicker than he thought, hallucinating about the Gryffindor.

Then he felt hands on his shoulders, covering his half-exposed body from the cold.

"We have to get you out of here!" Harry said. He was scared and very much alarmed with Tom's condition. The Slytherin was naked, that much could be seen, and he seemed to have lost so much weight since he had last seen him a few days ago. There were deep, dark circles under Tom's eyes and he seemed to be paler than normal - as if he had lost a lot of blood. That much he observed in the dim light. He wondered if there were more injuries where he couldn't see. Harry felt a surge of anger as he thought about what could possibly have happened to reduce Tom Riddle to this pathetic creature. The boy could barely sit, much less stand and run away from this place.

"Harry?" Tom repeated, blinking. Was this really a dream? The Harry he saw forced him up, wrapped the blanket around his body, and supported him as he stood. "Is this really you?"

"Yes, Tom," Harry answered. He strained with Tom's weight, as the other boy was much taller and heavier than him. Harry pulled Tom away from the bed. "We have to get out of here. Can you walk?"

Tom started to shake his head, then changed his mind and nodded. "Yes, yes, I can." His legs felt like rubber beneath him but he understood the urgency of the situation. Somehow, Harry had found him and was here to help him escape. He couldn't act like a weakling now. Gathering all his strength, Tom willed himself to take a step, and then another. He was about to take a third before sheer pain overtook him and he fainted - right into Harry's arms.

"_Enervate_," Harry roused him worriedly. He could support Tom like this if they stood still. But they had to move. Who knew when Lucius and his fellow Death Eater would be back?

Just when he asked himself that question, the heavy door started to open, and the blond head of Lucius Malfoy appeared. Angry grey eyes stared at Harry. In the space of a second, a horrified Harry saw Lucius' wand rise to point towards them. Simultaneously, he reached for his wand, only to find that it wasn't in his pocket where he had stuffed it in earlier. Just when he thought that he was about to die, from the corner of his eye, he saw Tom raise his arm. The wand was in his hand, and the dark-haired boy was saying something.

Instinctively, Harry tightened his hold on Tom. At the same instant, a flash of green light shot out of Lucius' wand and flew straight at the two joined figures.

Then Harry felt himself falling… Falling far, far down… Into darkness.

***

He thought he was dead.

Harry blinked. Sunlight met his eyes and he winced, squinting as he turned his head away from the glare. He was flat on his back, lying on the ground over some scattered leaves. Leaves? Wasn't it winter?

His left arm stretched out, and he felt someone else beside him. Harry rose slightly, supporting himself with one elbow and stared at Tom in wonder. The other was already awake, and had been watching him the whole time. The same familiar lips smiled, curling with amusement at Harry's awed expression. Crimson eyes met Harry's gaze as Tom pointed a finger above. Harry followed his movement and gaped.

They were in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by trees. From what he saw, the weather seemed to be late summer or very early autumn, as the trees were just turning brown and the branches were still heavy with foliage. A warm-looking cottage stood smack in the middle of this space, and they were both lying just meters from the door.

"Harry," Tom smiled proudly. "Welcome to my home."

TBC

A/N: Never, ever fall in love and mess up your life while in the middle of a WiP. This may be the best advice I could give to any writer out there at the moment. *sigh*

Thanks to all who reviewed the previous chappie here at FFN: xikum, c[R]ud[E]dly, kandra (that was a very touching review, thanks! ^^), Michael Serpent, Mark JGC, Chaser1, Immortal Memories, Giara Gryffindor, Foxy Bon Bon, Andromeda Snape-Malfoy, Honor, MustIBeAMalfoy, Sozoku, Dannii Malfoy, Yana5, and zero yuy (here's the update. *grin*)--and everyone else who has read and reviewed the story in it's entirety.

Good news, Chapter 11 is already half written! Hopefully, it'll be slashier (and that it'll compensate for the evil cliffie I left, eep!). I just have one question: My betas Sarah and Djay have noticed the Tom/Draco slant in the fic. So far, there are just suggestions of "something" in Draco's side. **Do you prefer the fic to stay that way (with just hints of Draco's feelings for Tom), or do you prefer the fic to have a stronger Tom/Draco theme on the side--to make Harry a bit more jealous?**

In any case, Draco's gonna play a big role here. :) Thanks for reading!


	11. Take Me Home

****

Author's Note:

Yes, the Harry/Tom shippers won hands down. Yay! This story will be Harry/Tom all the way. Although you need not have worried. I still intend to make Draco feel a little something for Tom (who wouldn't like the guy?) but I won't be including an official relationship between them in the fic. I don't like threesomes, or "sincere" infidelity, much. :P

I also uploaded two chapters. Big thanks to Moonlitdreamer (Sarah) for beta-reading. There was some delay on the 11th when my net connection got cut off and I couldn't contact my betas. But they're both here now so I posted them both at the same time. I hope you enjoy reading them. As soon as I finish writing each chapter, I always upload chapters first on my ygroup, unbeta-ed or not. So if you don't mind reading pre-beta chapters, please go to **h t t p : / / groups . yahoo . com / group / arcane_sins ** (just get rid of the spaces in between as FFN doesn't show links) for advance viewings and updates for all of my fics.

Also, for Harry/Tom fic lovers, The HxT Lightening group's website is open: Killing Green. Please check it out at **h t t p : / / corruptioninc . net / hxt**. It has a number of fics by different authors you might like to read.

Thank you so much for all your reviews. They made me happy during many cloudy days. --3 Passo

****

Review Responses:

veera55: No worries. They won't. :)

zero yuy: Like I told veera, there shouldn't be a problem. This is an H/T fic. If ever I was going to include a Tom/Draco angle, it wouldn't develop into a relationship. Probably just hints on Draco's side. Thanks! :)

c[R]ud[E]dly: Aww... *pats* It happens to everyone. :( I hope you're all right too. Yes, it was how I intended it. And I always loved the connection between the two. I simply had to use it! *grin*

GY: You're actually right. I think I was in a phase. Damn that Tom/Draco pic I saw months ago. :) But I intend to let it stay as a definite H/T as I started it.

HPIceAngel: I will! I mean... I just did. And I will again soon. *lol* But thanks so much for reading.

BratPrincess-187: Thank you! *blushes* I do intend to finish the fic soon, so I'll be updating more often than before. But for some reason everything I write ends in a cliffie. I can't understand it myself!

kandra: Honey! *glomps*kiss*hug* The crimson eyes was an effect of the ritual. The "home" thing... it's explained here in the 11th chappie. And I'm obsessed with this fic. *lol* There's no way I'd leave it hanging forever.

HoshiHikari4ever: It does seem that most H/T shippers prefer not to get Draco involved. *grin* So I'll keep it this way. Thank you!

Cicy: I'm so glad you think so. 3

Melanie: Thanks. ^^ And yes, the feeling will mostly be one-sided. Tom does love Draco, though, as a friend.

parselmouth: *blushes* Thanks so much! And I absolutely agree with you: H and T have to end up together.

Siren of the Darknessflame: Thanks. :)

Rit-Globe: I'm half in-love with him too. *gives you life-size tom pillow* But I'm not purposely keeping them from you. It's the dratted writer's block. *wah* But I'm over it. ^^ Thanks, too.

JadeDawn: It's not gonna get stronger than it already is. H/T lovers won hands down. ^^ Thank you Jadelyn.

Maira: Oh believe me, the characters torture me even in my sleep. *sigh* Thanks for your vote on the pairing issue, and for the lovely review. :)

SheWolfe7: Oh yes. *nods sadly* Entirely too few H/T's out there. Have you tried looking at the Killing Green website?

strangled lies: Ah, I wish I was still in love. It turned out to be a false alarm--where one has to drag one's self from the brief pseudo-pair existence and learn to walk alone again. But I'm happily single now. *grin*

Montana: That's true, and I took your advice. Thanks!

gayatri: I'm glad you think so. :) *nods* Tom is a little bit wary of Draco now. But I don't blame Draco either. Lucius is still his father. *sigh* I don't want to be in his shoes.

katrinanettice: Thank you. *speechless* And thanks to your friends too. I try to just type the story out, having people like it is an additional blessing--one I'm really happy about as I read wonderful reviews like yours. 3

Fire Tempest: Thanks. I am. ^_^

Angelic Candy: Thank you! *HUGS* Yes, I just want to hurry them along. *prods Tom and Harry* And thanks too for your review for Blood Changes. *smiles*

CTB: Hehe, we're just gonna make one of them sweat a little. Thank you for the encouragement! :)

Now, on with the fic…

***

Chasing Harry

by Passo

**Chapter 11: Take me Home**

Harry stared at Tom, rubbed his eyes, and stared again. His head gaze swung from the cottage to the teenage boy lying beside him on the grass. He still couldn't believe that he was alive after seeing Lucius Malfoy cast the unmistakable _Avada Kedavra_ at him. Not only was he alive, it appeared that Tom had managed to transport them both into a totally different time and place.

He glanced back at the cottage. It looked so warm, so inviting. The red-tiled roof was littered with leaves from the trees and wildflowers grew on the level ground around it. Trees surrounded the place for as far as he could see, and he knew that they must be in the middle of a forest. A million questions hung from his tongue, longing to be asked… but there was something more important that he had to take care of first.

"Are you all right?" Harry stood and crouched beside Tom, worried. The boy was still in the same white sheet that Harry wrapped him into and he didn't seem to have the strength to stand after their recent ordeal.

"Yes," Tom closed his eyes. He knew how he must look. As weak as he was, he felt something—an alien power in his body that was changing him in ways that he couldn't imagine. Inside, he was afraid—afraid of the unknown, afraid of the things the dark-haired man in the mists whispered in his dreams, afraid of himself. But could only be thankful that he was alive.

"What have they done to you?" Harry asked, a note of anger seeping in this voice. He couldn't believe that the Malfoys had done this to Tom. They were supposed to watch over him this Christmas—he was their guest, for heaven's sakes! But the lying villains had only managed to trick him into their plans.

"I'm not sure." Tom coughed repeatedly. The long hours of exposure to the cold was taking its toll. His eyes widened, imploring Harry to help him. "Could you help me inside? I don't think I can get in by myself?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I should have thought about that minutes ago." And, slinging Tom's arm over his shoulders, Harry entered the cottage.

***

"What day is it?"

Harry looked up. They were the first words Tom had said in the three hours they had been inside. As soon as Harry tucked him into bed in the only bedroom and covered him with warm blankets, the Slytherin had slept like a log. Harry had taken the time to explore the small cottage and found it surprisingly habitable. Everything was provided—sheets, furniture, plain robes in the closets, and even food in the pantry—and the place was kept clean, as if the person living here had just left to purchase something and would be back shortly. "You're awake. When I last checked the date, it was December twenty-four. That was the night I followed you to Malfoy Manor. That was hours ago so it must be the twenty-fifth now, although," Harry peeked out of the curtained windows, "it doesn't seem to be. There's no snow, and I'm quite sure there was a bit of snow."

"The date is probably right. Although it's a little hard to accept that I've barely spent more than a day in that place. Time drags when one is in pain, and mere minutes tend to last forever." Tom cleared his throat. He was still on the bed, and Harry had sat beside him the whole time he rested. He still couldn't believe that the Gryffindor boy would treat him so kindly, as he sure hadn't done anything to merit his kindness. "This house is outside our world. Someone who looked for it won't find it, and only the person who created this would know how to get here."

"You said this was your home. Did you build this yourself?" Harry asked. He was honestly curious about the place, and Tom's brief explanation only made it more intriguing.

"It is. Voldemort made it," the other answered. "I… He never had a real home so he made one for himself. Here, there is no sense of time, and one could stay for a long period just resting. I learned how to get here after staying so long inside him." He looked around. "I guess it's mine now."

Harry nodded, suddenly aware of how sad the statement sounded to him. How lonely had the real world become that a wizard—a powerful Dark Lord even—would find the need to create a magical respite just to have a "home"? Still, it was a proof of just how powerful Tom was, even at this young age. Harry knew nothing of creating such places. He didn't even know that it was possible.

"Voldemort had some taste," Harry smiled slightly. "I wouldn't have thought of this place as his."

"Ah, yes, one would expect the proverbial dark and cavernous castle to go with the image," Tom raised his brows. "But when it came to things like this, he still retained my earlier dreams of home. Powerful or not, he didn't need much—just a cozy place to stay… or hide, most of the time. He couldn't get here without a body, though."

"Hide." Harry frowned. "That's what we're doing right now."

Tom only said, "You want answers." When Harry nodded silently, he continued, "I know little, but I'll try to tell what I do know. It's a pity really, I should have expected it. It seemed that I was deceived by the lure of things I never had. It brought down my guard a bit," he said bitterly.

"Are you strong enough?" Harry asked. He moved from his chair and sat on the bed. "You could barely stand earlier."

"I can talk." He didn't want to be reminded of his weakness. Raising a hand, Tom suddenly said, "_Accio Mirror_!"

To Harry's amazement, a hand mirror with a wooden casing from the bureau flew into his hand. "You don't have a wand! How did you do that."

"I was just testing whether my suspicions were correct." He stared at his reflection, noting the red eyes, the pale skin, and the tired look on his face. He put the mirror down in disgust. "I no longer need one for minor spells, I would just need it for casting Killing Curses and such. Although, using a wand consumes less energy, making it more ideal, but it's hardly necessary." He almost laughed at the look on Harry's face. "Don't worry… I won't be casting a wandless Unforgivable any time soon."

"You better not," Harry retorted archly. His features softened as he asked a moment later, "What have they done to you?"

"Nothing I haven't done to myself before. Or, rather, what Voldemort did to himself." Tom laughed (bitterly, Harry thought). "It's funny… I kept on denying it. _No, I am not Lord Voldemort. I will never be Lord Voldemort_. I was so tortured by the thought of turning into him that I spent months trying to *not* be him. I must have seemed like a paranoid parrot to everyone, insisting over and over again that I won't ever repeat the past—that I deserve to live and have a place among the very people who fear me." He paused calmly, thoughtfully. "But you know, Harry, I was wrong. I can't run away from who I was—who I am. No matter what I do, Voldemort will always be within me, and I can no longer pretend that I can separate the two of us anymore.

"During the past two nights, they performed a ritual—the first in a long list of transformations that Voldemort undertook in the past to change himself into the powerful creature that you knew. I can feel it, Harry, I can feel it in me." Tom pushed the blanket down to his waist, took Harry's hand, and placed it flat against his warm chest.

And Harry heard, or rather, felt _it_. The powerful surge of something magical in Tom's body, the erratic beating of his heart—loud, strong, and completely different from his own. He sensed this difference, this feeling that Tom was somehow more than he was—yet still the same.

"I can see the wizard whose power he joined with me in my dreams. To him, it's a gift. It appears that he deems me to be a worthier successor, thinking that I can continue the work he has accidentally abandoned with his death." His lips quirked slightly, as if he found the thought of it as funny. He covered Harry's hand with his own. "You must hate me now."

"Why would I?" Harry whispered softly. He was still entranced, the beat of the heart beneath his palm roaring in his ears. He tried to focus on Tom, just concentrate on what he was saying.

"Am I not a danger to you?" Tom asked earnestly, more curious than threatening.

"I don't see why I should think that way." Harry tugged his hand away. He didn't want to, but he was feeling dangerously closer to Tom with every second they spent together. Yes, Tom was danger to him, but not in the way the dark-haired boy meant. "You haven't done anything wrong. And I don't think you will," he finished before the other could interrupt. Harry stood. "We'll finish our conversation after you rest."

"But I just woke up," Tom protested. He suddenly winced as he felt something ache in his body.

"You need more sleep. Proper sleep." Harry yawned. "I need mine, too. Go on, I'll see you in a few hours." Without another word, Harry left and shut the door behind him.

Ten minutes later, he was still there, his back on the bedroom door, digesting everything that Tom had told him. It was more than he had thought. The remaining Death Eaters clearly had plans to resurrect the Dark Lord and transform Tom into his other self—whether he liked it or not. He shuddered at the thought of what might have happened if he had not arrived in time to take Tom away from all that. But, surely, whether Harry appeared or not, Tom would not act the way they'd want him to, having enough power of his own to stand by his choices against his former allies. _Or would he?_

Harry shook his head. It was no use thinking about what could have happened. What he had said earlier was true, he needed his rest. Parking his tired body on the couch, Harry suddenly remembered the school. By now, they would have discovered that he was gone. Ron would be so worried. For a moment, he regretted not telling his best friend anything before he left. He had not expected to be gone this long. But it was too late now. He would have to explain when he got back.

And with that thought, Harry drifted off to sleep.

***

"Don't panic, Ron," the red-haired boy whispered to himself. "Harry may just be here somewhere." He entered their bedroom and looked under and over the beds for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He opened the door to the bathroom and checked. Nope, no Harry. He had already checked the whole Gryffindor Tower and asked everyone he encountered is they saw Harry. Still—nobody seemed to know where his best friend was.

Drat! They were supposed to be at the Christmas Eve dinner last night. Only Harry had not shown up without even saying anything which was highly unusual in itself. Ron had chalked it to exhaustion caused by the Christmas Eve afternoon Quidditch game. Now it was Christmas, and Harry was still missing.

Who could possibly want Harry at this time? Ron wondered. The war was over, and the worst of Harry's enemies were either dead or in prison.

He sifted through the stuff on Harry's perpetually messy bed. No matter how often the house-elves made it, Harry always managed to muss it up one way or another. And those elves had been busy this Christmas, resulting in unmade beds for nearly two days. Tossing an ugly grey sock away, Ron dug through the thick comforter and pulled out a—

A Slytherin scarf?

Why would Harry have a Slytherin scarf in his hands?

And then he just knew.

His face set grimly, Ron marched out of the room.

***

"What do you mean he's gone?" She sounded shrill and she knew it. But how could anyone blame her? She could just see all her plans fall from her silver Christmas tree and crumble on the Gryffindor carpet. This was not what she wanted to hear. Her eyes wide, Ginny gripped her brother's sleeve a little tighter. "I thought he was just in bed with a little indigestion?"

"Well that's just what I said." Ron shrugged her off uncomfortably. "I said that because I thought he was in some place he didn't want anyone to know. I thought I should just make some alibi for him and he'd be back in a while."

"Can he be just playing around? Hiding out somewhere as a joke?"

Ron looked at her steadily. "Ginny, by tonight, he would have been gone for two days. That's not like Harry." He paused. "The strange thing is, I can't find any signs that he was abducted. Certainly, the windows were shut tight against the snow. And no one can just walk in and Apparate out of Hogwarts. He must have left on his own accord."

"This is preposterous! Why would he leave?" She was starting to get really worried. If he wasn't kidnapped… Was he with someone else?

"I don't know." He was really puzzled. Something was niggling at the back of his mind but he didn't tell her about the Slytherin scarf. Not yet. It could be that Harry was seeing a Slytherin and didn't want anyone to know. As for which particular Slytherin—Ron didn't really want to think of Tom that way. "Maybe he's just with Sirius. I'll go over there as soon as I can."

"Please tell me if he is." She had calmed down somewhat. Yes, maybe she was overreacting. Of course he was just with his godfather. Ah, how silly could she be?

Ron walked away with a slight feeling that something was off. He was glad that his sister was so concerned about his best friend. But if it wasn't like Harry to leave for long periods unannounced, it also wasn't like Ginny to get riled up over a simple disappearance. Their own brothers Fred and George had vanished for longer periods before and Ginny had always reacted with the utmost calm. And sure enough, the twins always reappeared pretty much unharmed, except for a few minor damages here and there from their dealings with whoever their latest underworld friend was.

Maybe she was just frazzled.

He wasn't just walking around. He had somewhere to go, for he had just heard that a certain someone had arrived a little early—someone he particularly wanted to see. He knocked hard on their door. No one but him would be around today.

"Malfoy!" _Thump. Thump_. "I know you're in there!"

He knocked harder for a few minutes before the great door of Slytherin Hall opened to reveal a very irate Draco Malfoy. "What's with the disturbance, Weasel?" He sneered at Ron, looking at him condescendingly. "Sorry but we don't accept solicitations."

"Sod off, Malfoy." Ron raised his arm and held the door, preventing Draco from slamming it on his face. "I need to ask you a question."

Draco raised a brow. "Ooh, the poor boy needs my help?"

The blood rushed to his face, and Ron had to fight the urge not to pummel his pointy smirk down to the stone floor. He kept his gaze floating somewhere above Draco's ear. "Why are you here? It's barely after Christmas."

"What's it to you? It's none of your business." Draco tried to close the door and failed. Ron's considerable advantage in size proved to be useful. Draco sighed, "Fine, if you must know. I decided to spend the New Year here. Happy?"

Ron met his eyes slowly. "I need to see Tom Riddle."

Draco's expression closed. He looked at Ron warily before replying. "He's still in the Manor."

Warning bells tolled in Ron's mind but he tried to keep his face impassive. "Oh, is he really? With just your father."

Draco folded his arms over his chest. "You're getting far too inquisitive for a casual afternoon chat." He pushed the door with all his strength and stopped while it was still opened slightly. "I'll tell him you asked for him."

"Tell him…" Ron thought for a moment. "Tell him it's about Harry Potter."

Draco stilled. "What about Harry Potter?"

"Nothing you should be concerned about."

He shrugged away Ron's cryptic remark about Harry. He wasn't interested in Harry—only with the things Harry might have done which affected him or the people in his circle. _Ah, you lie, Draco_, his traitorous self whispered. But with Harry here in Hogwarts, he wasn't really a problem. His father and the other Death Eaters were the problem.

And as he watched Ron Weasley walk away, Draco couldn't stop the feeling of relief that crept over him—despite himself. The conversation (if one could call it that) went rather well. He made Ron know, without seeming like he volunteered any information, that Tom was in potential danger.

He closed the door behind him, smiling coldly. In a way, he didn't betray his father. He didn't even say anything concrete.

With a calming breath, he dug into his pocket and held the wand that he kept there. The other wand. He had found it on the floor of the library—and at that moment, he knew that Tom had not gone willingly.

He had left the manor as soon as he could. No one would notice anyway. Lucius would barely register his absence. His mother would understand. Vincent and Greg had each other to amuse themselves. And Tom…

He grinned faintly, with pride. He knew Tom would find a way out. Lucius had been silent but Draco knew his father well enough to understand his black mood. He had hardly seen Lucius since their talk. And he had not seen Taylor at all. But he heard well enough, especially behind closed doors. They were probably looking for the one they had lost.

Tom would need his wand. When he comes back.

And Draco would bide his time.

-TBC-


	12. A Simple Yes

Chasing Harry

By Passo

  
**Chapter 12: A Simple Yes**

"Are you sure you can move around?" Harry asked skeptically. He was lounged on the side of Tom's bedroom door, watching the other struggle to stand by himself. Harry had offered to help him earlier but Tom had stubbornly refused, saying in not so many words that Harry was not to take one step inside this room.

And Harry had thought they were actually starting to get along.

"Yes, yes." Tom clutched on the blanket around his midsection and paused to catch his breath. Was it that difficult to just stand? "I need a shower."

"That's what made you so irritable today?" Harry raised his brows. "I thought you just wanted to recover quickly."

"Well, that too. But the shower comes first." Tom wrinkled his nose. "I smell like blood."

Harry laughed. "Trust me, you don't."

"I didn't catch you sniffing me." Now it was his turn to raise his brows.

Harry blushed. "I wasn't. I meant… I meant you smelled okay when we talked." Tom only grinned more which made Harry blush even redder. The Gryffindor turned around in annoyance. "Oh, think whatever you like. I'm making breakfast."

"Thanks honey!" Tom managed to call out laughingly before Harry slammed the door shut.

***

He turned the shower on and nearly mewled with pleasure at the feel of warm water sliding down his skin. He had always found showers invigorating, and this was no exception. Tom lathered up thoroughly using the shampoo and soap he had found there. It seemed new. How nice of Voldemort to leave such convenient supplies.

He scrubbed himself until it almost hurt. He wasn't kidding earlier when he told Harry that he smelled blood on himself. That was one scent he hated, for he always connected it to the years of pain he was forced to see—to watch from behind windows helplessly, unable to act or control the body that was ironically his.

He rinsed off methodically, if not a little more slowly than usual, feeling somewhat stronger than he had when he woke up. At least it wasn't so hard to keep upright anymore than it had been yesterday. Stepping out of the shower, Tom reached for the single towel hanging on the rack. He was surprised to find it slightly damp.

Harry had showered earlier.

Despite himself, he found himself growing hard at the thought as he ran the cotton over his wet skin, unable to forget that Harry had done the same thing earlier. He imagined that he felt the other's skin on his—Harry's scent left on the towel he now used so liberally.

He tried to stop his thoughts before he went too far. _You're getting desperate, Tom_. He told himself. _The least you could do is not jump the only person who thought about helping you_.

How exactly had Harry known that there was something wrong? He'd have to ask him after he dressed.

Choosing a simple black robe in the closet, Tom donned it and combed his damp hair away from his face. He didn't bother looking in the mirror. He liked to see as little reminders of what had occurred as possible. And as he walked out of the bedroom, he had to smile just a little at the sight of Harry—Harry cooking, or at least trying to, their breakfast.

The brunet was clearly panicking. He fanned the air above the smoking stove as he tossed the contents of the frying pan in the trash. Tom squinted at the charred black mess.

"What were those supposed to be?"

"Eggs," Harry answered mournfully, his back to Tom. Turning to the Slytherin, he added, "I tried making some myself as I'm still not adept at making food appear with my wand. The eggs always come out scrambled."

"I see," Tom nodded understandingly, hiding his amusement. "And how do you like your eggs, Harry?"

Maybe it was just Harry, but Tom's way of asking the seemingly innocent question nearly brought another blush to Harry's face. Fiercely controlling himself, Harry answered with a straight face, "Sunny side up."

"Good as done!" Tom smiled winningly and, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows, waved across the checkered table cloth. "I hope this comes out right… _Voila_! Fresh warm eggs, sunny side up!"

And sure enough, there they lay, perfectly fried eggs—two on each plate. Harry shook his head in wonder. "Amazing!" he laughed. "How did you do that with little practice?"

"Well my food preparations always did come out perfectly with a wand. I just had to concentrate the same way, if not a little more intensely, with just my hands. Come, let's eat." Grabbing a fork, Tom took a seat.

"At least I'm not totally useless. I did manage to perfect the art of making iced pumpkin juice," Harry said, producing a pitcher just after he sat. "Back in my early years in Hogwarts, I didn't realize Culinary Magic was so tough. Professor Mc Gonagall and Professor Dumbledore made it look so easy!"

"It is easy," Tom exclaimed.

"Maybe for you, but when I've made the tenth soggy French toast, Professor Nadine was ready to blow a fuse!" They laughed for a while, imagining the old teacher who took her subject, and her art, a little bit too seriously.

"I've always liked to cook. Maybe that helped."

"Yeah, maybe." Harry shrugged.

They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, each with his own thoughts. Harry, on his part, felt a twinge of worry about leaving his friends without notice. Surely, by this time, Ron would be worried. But he had to stay until Tom was strong enough to leave—who knew what danger waited for them on the other side, what with Lucius and his men around looking for their Dark Lord. Yes, Harry decided, his friends would understand. He could always explain later. Right now, Tom's well-being was more important, and he did seem to be recovering quite fast.

"Harry…"

"Tom…"

They both started at the same time. They paused uncomfortably, and Tom gestured for Harry to speak first.

"I was just wondering if you're feeling better."

"I am." Tom nodded. "The shower did wonders. And the rest too. At least now I can move around, even if it's slower than normal."

"Good. And you don't smell like blood anymore?" Harry grinned.

"Not that I know. Why, Harry, what do I smell like now?" Tom added teasingly.

How was he supposed to answer that question properly? "Um, okay."

"Just okay?" Dark brows rose.

"I mean, good," Harry corrected hastily. Then, against his better judgment, immediately blushed. Damn, what was with his body temperature today? "I mean, I think you smell good, not that I smelled you during the last ten minutes. At least you _look_ like you do… I mean… You know what I mean." _Okay, Harry, please… shut up now_. Keeping whatever what was left of his manly dignity, Harry kept his eyes trained on his glass.

"I see. Well, thank you." Trying to keep an impassive expression, Tom merely nodded. Inside, he was grinning, and also felt a little bit flattered by Harry's apparently flustered state. That he had an effect on the young Gryffindor was plainly obvious. It was just a matter of knowing exactly _why_ he affected Harry. The train of his thoughts brought him back to the question he had been wanting to ask, "Harry, how did you know I needed help?"

"I felt you," Harry answered matter-of-factly. "Didn't you know?"

"What do you mean?" Tom's brows furrowed. "I was hardly conscious most of the time I was there. I think I must have screamed a lot, but I don't remember anything much."

"Maybe that was it," the other said thoughtfully. "I can't explain exactly why and how it happened. I just felt your pain, or a part of it, somehow. I was asleep, and I dreamt of you. I even heard your voice. Then I woke up… And my scar—my scar hurt a lot. Like the way it used to do back when—"

"Back when Voldemort was near," Tom finished. "Tell me, Harry. Before that, did you ever feel anything related to me? Did I ever make your scar hurt in any way?"

"No. I'm quite sure nothing happened. I would have remembered it if it ached while you were there."

"They must have opened a link?" Tom thought out aloud while staring at the air in front of him, trying to remember.

"A link?"

"Yes!" Intense crimson eyes stared back into Harry's. "They tried to mingle with me what they had of Voldemort's essence—something that contained his life force, it could've been his blood, by using Dark Magic. They used the same thing in the past when Voldemort tried to acquire more power by absorbing Grindelwald's into him."

"And now they tried to merge the two wizards' magic within you?" Harry questioned seriously. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Dangerous, yes. Painful, yes. Anything could happen while using magic as dark and powerful as the spells they had performed. But to one who knows what he's doing, it just takes a lot of effort," Tom answered grimly. "Well, technically, they really tried to merge me with myself." He suddenly chuckled, a slightly bitter note in his laughter.

"Hmph, you can laugh about it now," Harry scowled. "What they did was illegal, not to mention threatening to someone. What if something wrong did happen? You could have died then and there!"

"Worse, Grindelwald could have been resurrected. Or even worse, Voldemort!"

"You're serious?" Harry gaped.

Tom paused. "Actually… no."

"Huh?"

"I was kidding about the resurrection." A slow smile broke through his face as Tom watched Harry's reaction. "You just looked so serious, I thought I'd scare you a little."

"Aargh… Why did I ever pull you out of there?" Harry pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. Part of him knew that he was acting quite childishly but that part was a long, long way from being heard.

"Hey, I couldn't help it!" Tom said defensively.

"You have a sick sense of humor."

"And you people wonder why I ever became Dark Lord. No one ever laughed at my jokes!"

"All right, that's it!" Harry stood with a flourish and looked at Tom pointedly. "You're doing the dishes."

***

Harry lay under the tree, cooling his head. It didn't help that Tom had quickly disposed of the dishes by doing his wandless magic bit even before Harry walked out the door. His punishment clearly wasn't worth much and Harry left feeling a little miffed.

But he was also a little amused. _That show off_, he thought. _I wonder how his mother ever withstood him_. At the same instant, Harry remembered: She never did. She died too early. It was funny how Tom and him shared one exact same characteristic: their lives, or at least the major details, were all written in history school books.

"Someone else wouldn't have done the same thing."

Harry glanced up. Tom was standing above him. "I didn't realize you came out."

"Well, as cozy as it is, it can be a little lonely in the cottage alone." He sat just beside Harry, sweeping away a few fallen leaves from the dry earth.

"What were you saying?" Harry asked, a little later.

"What you did." Tom turned to him. "It was a very brave thing. Not everyone would have done what you did when you felt it. Others would have just ignored it, or maybe they would have done something else: warn Dumbledore maybe—which is not a bad idea."

"Hmm…" Harry murmured. "I've always been a little too impulsive when it came to those things. I didn't even think straight. I just knew I had to go to Malfoy Manor and make sure you were all right."

"And you did."

They both stayed in silence for a long time, watching the sky grow darker with each passing minute. Orange faded to red. Red to grey. Until a few tiny pinpoints of stars could be seen above. Soon, it would be night.

"Thank you, Harry." Tom whispered, breaking the silence. "Thank you for coming to me."

Instinctively, Harry reached out and held the others' hand, just for a moment. "You're welcome," he said simply.

They shared a smile, and a short moment of peace. Tom stood and held out his hand for Harry. "Let's go inside. Insects will be coming out in a few minutes."

Harry stood and followed the other boy in the house. Tom stopped when they reached the living room.

"There's one other thing." He had to say it, before he lost the nerve.

Harry stared questioningly.

Suddenly, without any warning of what he was about to do, Tom reached out, took Harry's face in his hands, and gave him the softest of kisses on the lips. "Merry Christmas, Harry."

***

"Hermione, this is serious. He's been missing for days!" Ron gripped his sleeves a little too tightly as he explained the situation to a steaming Hermione. It was the day after New Year and Hermione had just arrived in Hogwarts. She had come a day earlier than planned after receiving Ron's cryptic "emergency" letter. Knowing Ron's tendency to overreact, Hermione had expected something inane—maybe the Slytherins stole Harry's broom or something akin to that. Little did she expect to arrive with one of her two best friends _missing_.

"And you didn't do anything about it?" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.

"I did look for him! And I even tried asking Malfoy. But all I got from him was that Riddle wasn't with him anymore. He said he was still in Malfoy Manor but I highly doubt that."

"So both Tom Riddle and Harry are missing…" Hermione tapped her fingers on the couch. "This could be serious. Why didn't you tell Dumbledore or any of the teachers?"

"I thought about that. But I found this." Ron produced the Slytherin scarf from a pocket. Digging deeper, he took out something else. A small card containing a note. "Tom gave Harry this for Christmas, judging from the mess I saw on the bed before the house-elves cleaned it up."

"So what does this mean?" Hermione asked, a little confused.

"Well," Ron paused. How the hell does one put this delicately? "Maybe Harry and Riddle… Maybe they don't want to be found."

"Are you suggesting that they're hiding out somewhere?" Skeptically, she raised the scarf. "Why would Tom take Harry with him."

"Well, maybe… you know…" Ron flushed.

Hermione's eyes widened as she suddenly realized what Ron was trying to say. "RON WEASLEY! How dare you imply that Harry is sleeping with Tom Riddle?!" She yelled, drawing the whole common room's attention to them. Luckily, most students haven't arrived yet.

Taking Ron's arm, Hermione marched out of the Tower. "Honestly, Ron, you and your ideas."

"Well, it's possible!" he said defensively. "Where are we going?"

"To Professor Dumbledore—where you should have gone the moment you realized Harry was gone. Tom and Harry together… Imagine! Really, Ron, that's practically impossible," she scoffed.

Little did she know that at the moment she said those words, those two same people were staring at each other in a cottage just outside their dreams.

TBC

A/N: Hope you liked this update. The next chapter will be quite, um, explicit. Not NC-17 as this fic shall be kept within the R rating. But those waiting for some Tom/Harry action will definitely get it! ^_^ And, yes, feedback will make me very, very happy.

And thanks to **Cicy** for pointing out a mistake I overlooked. Tom's eyes are red, not green. I accidentally typed "green" out of habit. *facepalms* But it's fixed now. 


	13. OutsideSpace

**Chasing Harry**

by Passo

Chapter 13: Outside Space

"Is this wrong?"

"What?" Harry's eyes were unfocused behind his glasses as he mumbled the question dreamily. What had just happened?

Tom's hands were still on Harry's cheeks. He was no longer smiling, and all the months of restraint had broken his resolve from the moment he decided to do what he had just done. Staying this close to Harry for more than a day was too much for him. Yes, he was tired—tired of making allowances. He needed this, for he was beyond wanting. And he was determined to know if Harry wanted the same thing. "This," he whispered, and bent closer once more, catching Harry's lips with his own.

He wasn't gentle. All the months and weeks and days of waiting, of satisfying himself with just wisps of memory from a night that was barely more than a dream. But it was real. And he wanted it to be real again—here, now. He crushed Harry to him, his arms enclosing the fragile boy tightly as he let his tongue travel across the other's plump, luscious lips. And to his joy, Harry responded. As if awakened, the Gryffindor kissed him back with as much enthusiasm as he had given, moaning with disappointment as Tom suddenly ended their all-too-brief kiss.

"No," Harry groaned.

"No?" The fingers that were starting to unclasp Harry's robe stopped as Tom asked the other in surprise.

"I mean no, don't stop," Harry murmured as he tightened his arms around the taller boy's neck.

Tom smiled, white teeth gleaming in the firelight. "I was just getting started."

Dropping feather-light kisses on his face, Tom started to peel the robe from Harry, drawing his breath upon discovering that the other boy had nothing on underneath. He gave Harry a questioning glance, making the Gryffindor flush and mumble, "I don't have anything to wear here."

"I'm glad," Tom answered honestly. He kissed Harry again, bringing his lips down to his neck—sucking on his collarbone and going lower—kneeling while he dropped the robe in a pool around Harry's feet. He gripped Harry's hips gently and sighed, laying his head on the flat belly. He wanted to make sure before he went any further. "Is this what you want?"

Harry didn't even need to think as he raised his head, closing his eyes in pleasure as he answered, "Yes."

Tom started with the waist, kissing his way up as he stood. He heard Harry's shallow breathing as he licked the shell of his ear, tightening his grip around Harry's hips. The flesh of his bottom yielded beneath Tom's fingers and he suddenly moaned—imagining himself taking his body once again. He could hardly wait.

But he was determined to make this last—make this something to remember.

He took Harry hands, raised it to his shoulders, and whispered huskily, "Undress me."

With shaking fingers, Harry followed his order, awkwardly picking at the clasps in front. He was half-impatient yet half-terrified of what he was doing, and he could hardly look at Tom in the eyes as he did as he was told to do. He could feel the lidded scarlet eyes watching him and he felt shy with his exposure. The only thing that stayed his urge to cover himself was the knowledge that Tom wanted him—his body—in spite of all his faults, and his own growing longing to see, touch, and taste what he was just unveiling. For the second time in his life he felt desired, and this time, he wanted to savor it. He didn't want to run away again.

Tom pulled his robe off, short of ripping it off him moments before he pulled Harry to him and kissed him hard. "You're too slow," he murmured on his lips, smiling slightly.

Instead of answering, Harry merely smiled and kissed him in return, loving the feel of Tom's hot tongue in his mouth as he wrapped his arms around him.

Tom backed him against the wall, ground Harry's hips to his as they kissed. He was so aroused it was almost painful. And the feel Harry's own need against him as the boy writhed beneath his touch almost drove him crazy. He wanted to bang him on the wall and take him there at that moment.

Barely able to control himself, Tom lifted Harry and let the other wrap his legs around him without breaking their kiss. He carried Harry to his room, laying the other on his bed. He gently removed Harry's glasses as the other stared at him, blinking sleepily as he let Tom do as he wished.

He was a mix of innocence and sin—eyes so trusting, yet somehow making Tom want to do things he never wanted to do with anyone else. His cheeks were flushed with their earlier exertions and Tom had the sudden insane desire to discover whether the color extended _there_. Climbing on the bed, he covered Harry's body with his own, touching him until the other boy moaned for more.

Harry bucked wantonly as Tom thrust in him, shaking the bed as they moved in rhythm—with Harry almost weeping at the intense wave of pleasure that swept through him as he finally peaked beneath Tom, thrashing on the covers as he came.

In his euphoria, he felt Tom come inside him—felt the hotness coat him as he heard the other's cries. Without opening his eyes, Harry pulled Tom down, taking him in his arms and thinking that he would never ever want to let go.

= =

'Ow…" Harry moaned softly as he awoke. The curtains were open, and the sunlight shone directly on his eyes as he blinked into reality. Backing away from the glare, Harry moved deeper to the center of the bed, his right arm stretching into the empty space before him. It took a second for information to sink in but he suddenly realized that he was alone.

Sitting up quickly, he surveyed the room. There was no one inside except him. He frowned, confused. Was last night just another dream? He was afraid it was, but the telltale aches in his body said otherwise.

The door opened and Tom entered. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. No, it wasn't a dream. He watched with some amusement as the Slytherin struggled to keep the door open as he carried a breakfast tray inside. Tom sat beside Harry and placed the try carefully before him with a grin, "Breakfast in bed for the beautiful boy."

Harry blushed as he wrapped the blanket tighter around him. "I am not," he disagreed. Still, he smiled. Tom thought he was beautiful.

"Yes you are," Tom bent down and kissed him on the nose. He stood like that for some time, his hands resting on his knees as they gazed at each other face to face. "Do you realize just how incredible you look right now?" he whispered moments later. "I'm quite tempted to make love to you all over again."

"I…" The words died in Harry's throat as he stared at Tom, frightened and excited at the same time as Tom looked at him hungrily. For a split second, he thought Tom was going to do exactly that when the Slytherin straightened and sighed regretfully.

He kissed Harry again—on the forehead this time—and chucked his chin before saying, "Breakfast first." He sat on the bed and watched animatedly as Harry ate.

"Do you want some?" Harry extended a fork, offering a bite of his food minutes later.

Tom shook his head. "I'll eat later," he said and smiled wickedly.

Harry gaped and put his fork down. He wasn't quite so hungry for food anymore.

= =

"Harry's been missing for days!" Ron wailed in Dumbledore's office. "How could I not panic?" He breathed excitedly, wondering where his resolve to remain calm went. He and Hermione had explained all they knew to the Headmaster two days before and Dumbledore had gathered a handful of Aurors to search Malfoy Manor and look for Tom Riddle or any trace of Harry Potter. But the wizards and witches came up empty and Draco Malfoy wasn't saying anything—locked up in his dorm room with the rest of his housemates.

During the past days, reality had somehow sunk in and Ron wondered whether he'd still see his best friend alive again.

"Calm down," Hermione whispered fiercely. "Panicking won't help."

Dumbledore didn't seem to hear Ron's outburst as he frowned into his hands. He had not realized that the situation had advanced this far. "And you two fear that Harry is in Tom Riddle's hands?"

"We can't be sure of that, Professor," Hermione answered. "But, as of now, we have determined that both of them aren't present in the school. Malfoy and his other friends have returned from the Christmas break."

"And Tom Riddle could only be in Malfoy Manor," Ron piped up, remembering his earlier argument with Draco.

"But he isn't there now." Dumbledore paused. "In fact, there is no one there but Lucius Malfoy's wife. And she professed to know nothing of her husband's whereabouts. She said the children left the Manor before New Year and she assumed Tom was with Draco then."

"But he isn't," Ron finished glumly.

The door opened and Sirius and Snape walked in. Hermione was surprised to find the two together without bickering. But she supposed that the current danger was enough to quell even their animosity to each other—even just temporarily.

"Any news?" Dumbledore asked.

"None. None at all," Sirius answered, dazed. "No one had seen any signs of Harry or Tom in any of the nearby villages. Remus and I searched around without sleeping. Even Kingsley helped. But there was nothing." He waved his arm in the air helplessly.

Snape placed his hands on the Headmaster's table. "I have something. It's trivial, but everything is important in situations like these."

Dumbledore nodded. "Tell me."

"I received reports that Taylor Goyle was sighted in Eastern Europe some time before Christmas. Now, six ex-Death Eaters are gone from their homes: Malfoy, Goyle, Crabbe, MacNair, Avery, and Nott. Their families were just given vague explanations of where they had gone."

"Tom could be with them," Hermione suggested worriedly. "And Harry."

"We never should've let Tom Riddle out of Hogwarts!" Snape exclaimed hotly. "Now one of my students has disappeared while another refuses to speak to anyone. And who knows what that Potter kid may be up to now?"

"We should be the one worrying that your _precious_ student has done something to Harry," Sirius cut in angrily.

"There is no proof that Tom has taken Harry with him," Snape retorted. "When he and Draco left the castle, Potter was here and you know it. How he disappeared and why he disappeared could be entirely unrelated to Tom Riddle's absence. In fact," Snape crossed his arms, "I doubt if those two were even friends."

"They were."

Heads turned to Ron. The red-haired boy produced the card he had found on Harry's bed. "At least they were close enough to exchange greetings. And I found a Slytherin scarf on Harry's bed."

"It appears that the two boys were closer than we had thought," Dumbledore said in a soft voice. He thought for a moment and turned to Ron and Hermione. "I need you two to return to your dorm. Try to keep everyone calm and tell them that Harry's supposed to be on an extended holiday with Sirius." He turned to Sirius and Snape. "I need to talk to you two."

As Hermione closed the door and left the three powerful wizards behind, she grasped Ron's hand. Ron tightened his grip as he looked at her in sympathy. She was clearly trembling. "I'm afraid, Ron," she admitted. "I'm afraid for Harry."

He squeezed her hand. "So am I," he whispered.

= =

In the room, Dumbledore spoke seriously to the two wizards sitting before him. "I'm afraid we cannot wait any longer. I had not anticipated Lucius Malfoy to act this early. I don't believe that Tom Riddle or Harry is with him or with any other Death Eaters."

"How can you be sure?" Sirius asked worriedly.

Instead of answering, Dumbledore retrieved something from under his desk. He pointed his wand below and a small plastic purple bird floated to his table. Sirius and Snape stared at it, mystified.

"Is this some sort of charm?" Sirius asked.

"No, it's an alarm clock. Don't touch it," Dumbledore warned. "I had to obtain something that was last held by no one but Tom Riddle. I figured this was appropriate for what I needed." He placed his left fingers against his forehead, pointed his wand on the plastic bird and said, "_Spiratio_."

The bird glowed faintly, and so did Dumbledore's fingers—the ones he touched his forehead with. The Headmaster put down his wand after a full minute and he sighed. The glow disappeared.

"What was that?" Sirius asked in awe.

"It's a locating spell," Dumbledore answered. "It's a little hard to explain, and the spell is known to only a few. It's particularly dangerous for unscrupulous people to learn as it allows one to feel the person they are searching for wherever they are in the world, as long they have an article touched last by that person." The aged wizard smiled faintly. "It was developed by Nicholas Flamel himself. I had the honor of being one of the trusted persons he bequeathed knowledge of the spell to."

"And do you feel where Tom Riddle is?" Snape asked, a little anxiously. "Is he all right?"

"That's the problem. I can't feel him at all," Dumbledore admitted.

Snape weakened visibly. "He is dead, then."

"Not necessarily." Dumbledore touched his fingertips together as he explained, "Dead wizards feel quite different. There's a presence, but it is an empty husk—their bodies convey nothing. Tom Riddle, meanwhile, simply isn't there. There's nothing. I performed the same spell on one of Harry's possessions and received the same results."

Dumbledore stood and started pacing excitedly. "I only know of one explanation. It's a vague theory, but it's possible."

"And…?" Snape asked, exchanging glances with Sirius.

Dumbledore turned to them, his eyes flashing beneath the lenses, "Do you know that a world can be created outside space?"

"A place outside what?" Sirius repeated, confused.

"Another place. Almost another universe—only smaller. Certain powerful wizards and witches in the past have been known to have created such hideouts. Places to stay beyond the reach of anyone else in this world. It is the perfect home for loners—no one can enter it unless the creator himself wills it. But the creation of it requires genius, time, and powerful magic. Only a mere few have succeeded." Here, Dumbledore paused. "Salazar Slytherin was suspected to be one. Godric Gryffindor himself witnessed him disappear for years without anyone knowing where he was. It's entirely possible that the Dark Lord Voldemort had his own—and that Tom Riddle knew exactly how to get there."

"Would it corroborate with your findings?" This came from Snape, who had absorbed the information like a sponge. "Can the Spiratio spell track them if they're there?"

"No, which is exactly why I suspect that place exists," Dumbledore finished.

"How can we get them out of there?" Sirius ventured after a few moments of silence. "We don't even know where it is?"

Hesitantly, Dumbledore answered, "There is a way. But it has some risks."

= =

"What do you propose?" Lucius Malfoy asked tiredly. Nights of no sleep had taken its toll and he looked exhausted as he collapsed on an overstuffed armchair in a deserted house somewhere in England. A fire in the old grate was the only light in the darkened room. The shades were drawn and the place was magically charmed to keep anyone from entering.

"We have to take him out of there," Taylor Goyle urged. His dark glance swept across the four other people who sat with them—men who remained loyal to their cause. "I propose that we Summon him from that place. It's the only possible place where they could be right now. The Order of the Phoenix has been sniffing around for them and has come up empty. It's possible that Our Lord has brought the Gryffindor child to his home."

Avery intervened, "It's simple enough to say, but Summoning him from that place is dangerous. We run the risk of destroying it, killing him, killing us, or sucking ourselves into it and staying there forever. We can't even go there without his will. How can we possibly take him from there safely?"

"It's more than dangerous," Taylor agreed. "But what else can we do? We need him, and we have to make him see that he belongs with us—here, and that we can achieve what he had always dreamed of before his first death." His eyes flickered. "The risk, I believe, is worth taking."

Heads turned to the blond man opposite Taylor. Lucius sighed again from his armchair. He lifted his hand from his face and said, "What do we need to do?"

= =

"Is it ready?" a woman whispered from beneath her hood.

"Minerva," Dumbledore nodded.

The four wizards and one witch clasped hands in the middle of the forest. Around them, the wind stirred suddenly, whipping their dark robes around them. Dumbledore started chanting quietly, his deep voice heard by none other then his companions in the night.

As a leaf blew with the wind, scratching his cheek, Remus gave a silent prayer that everything would turn out all right.

Far from the group in Hogwarts, a band of six Dark wizards prepared to cast their own spell. At the heart of their circle, a dagger lay, crusted with dried black blood.

= =

"It's silly."

"No, tell me," Tom urged.

"You'll laugh." Harry shook his head, smiling. "I think of the silliest things sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Tom asked not without irony.

"Fine. I do that all the time. But I'm not telling you this time."

"Even if I paid for your thoughts with a sickle?" Tom laughingly produced a silver coin from behind Harry's ear, who promptly scowled and pushed him away.

"You're making fun of me!"

Tom laughed, pulling Harry against him as the other tried vainly to get away. He hugged Harry tightly, losing his balance as Harry gave a sudden violent kick and they dropped, laughing, on the grass. "You're impossible!" Tom gasped as he brushed the leaves off his chest. He pulled himself up to a sitting position and glared at Harry who was still on his back, grinning.

"Look who's talking," Harry snickered. "I wasn't the one who nearly broke the kitchen table in half this morning."

The corners of Tom's lips twitched. "I clearly remember you stretched on the said table while you were screaming my name."

"Screaming? I was moaning!" Harry howled.

"Trust me, _sweetie_," Tom said, his voice deceptively soft. "You were screaming so hard I was afraid _you _would break."

Harry looked away, abashed. "Well you don't have to remind me."

"It's a pity I couldn't take a picture then." Tom suddenly moved, imprisoning Harry between his arms as he looked down naughtily. "You looked rather fetching."

Harry raised his head and met Tom's lips with his own. He nipped Tom's lips mischievously, smiling against the other's mouth as he said, rather breathily, "I have a problem."

"What is it?" Tom asked distractedly. He was busy nuzzling Harry's cheek as he spoke.

"Tom…" Harry started. He backed away slightly, holding Tom off with one hand. "I think I—" He suddenly stopped what he was about to say as he noticed something strange behind the other boy, "What's that?"

"What?" Tom spun around.

"The tree. Something's wrong with the tree," Harry pointed. Indeed, the tree behind them seemed it be undergoing some strange activity. It was, somehow, flickering.

Tom stood and walked nearer. He lay his hand on the bark. It seemed steady enough. He turned, about to tell Harry that there was nothing to worry about when he saw his hand flash along with the rest of the tree. Alarmed, he jumped away from it. "Harry, I think there's something wro— Harry? HARRY!"

"Tom!" Harry reached out, his eyes wide with panic.

But it was too late. He was falling. The ground had disappeared beneath his back and he saw Tom's blurred form—moving farther and farther as he dropped. He heard him shout from a distance before everything disappeared.

And, once again, there was nothing but darkness.

TBC

> >   



	14. Morsmordre

**Chasing Harry**  
by Passo

**Chapter 14: Morsmordre**

He was falling—falling into the endless chasm that stretched before him. He could see nothing but darkness. Panic quickly overtook his senses and he opened his mouth to scream.

"Harry!"

He blinked and was instantly overwhelmed with pain. He shut his eyes instinctively and, almost at once, felt a hard stinging slap on his cheek.

"Ow!" he yelped, squinting at the hazy blur before him. In moments, the blur solidified into a very concerned-looking Sirius.

"Sorry, Harry," he said. "But I was afraid you wouldn't wake up."

"I doubt if you needed to use such harsh measures to rouse him," Snape said from somewhere above. "But I'm not complaining."

Harry groaned and lifted himself on one arm. Mystified, he gazed at the small group of people around him. "I don't understand. How did I get here?"

"We brought you here," Sirius answered happily, clearly relieved that Harry was out of danger.

In spite of Sirius' satisfaction, Harry noticed the troubled look on Dumbledore's face as he turned to the Headmaster. He crouched beside Harry and looked at the boy in the eye. "Harry, what is the last thing you remember?"

He placed a hand on his forehead, trying to think in spite of the throbbing headache. "I was falling for the longest time. It was horrible, I thought it wouldn't end." He paused, his brow wrinkling slightly. "And before that I was with… Tom! He was right here, beside me. Where is he?" Suddenly remembering, he looked around frantically but Tom Riddle was nowhere in sight. Harry was lying in the middle of a dark clearing and he could see Hogwarts Castle in the distance, but with him were just Dumbledore, McGonagall, Sirius, Remus, and Snape.

"That's what I'm worried about," Remus admitted, frowning a little. "He was supposed to come with you."

"But what—" Harry started to ask, perturbed.

Dumbledore quickly cut Harry's question and spoke soothingly, "We'll discuss that later. Right now, you need to rest. Coming here must have taken a lot of your energy." Turning to Remus, he requested the other wizard to take Harry to the hospital wing. Sirius volunteered to accompany them and left with the two.

As soon as the three were out of earshot, McGonagall voiced what the rest of them feared but were afraid to say in front of Harry, "What did we do wrong? They were supposed to come together!" Her hands were clasped in front of her in an uncharacteristic show of apprehension. The fear that they had somehow put the other young man in danger was running in their minds, unspoken.

Dumbledore shook his head, a look of concern on his face. "From what I know, we didn't do anything wrong. But _someone_ interfered with the performance of our spell. However, we used an unstable form of magic and I was afraid of something like this happening."

"Someone? Did Tom Riddle manage to repel us with magic?" This came from Snape.

"No. I'm suspect there's another party involved here. Someone other than us wants him as well." With a wave of his wand, the materials they have used diminished into much smaller pieces. Dumbledore pocketed them and motioned to the others. "It's late, and it's getting colder. We should be getting back. We can discuss this inside."

* * *

He woke up alone. Tom tried to stand but the incessant pounding in his head impeded his efforts. He lay back on the ground, shivering.

What struck him most was the cold. It seeped through his clothes and chilled his insides. He wasn't dressed for this kind of weather. Aside from the black robe, he just wore cotton trousers and a thin shirt underneath. He knew that if he didn't move soon, he would likely freeze to death.

After he managed to stand upright using a tree as support, Tom suddenly remembered Harry. The last thing he recalled was sitting with him, enjoying their light banter before he dropped and lost consciousness. Looking around, he called Harry's name repeatedly. He heard nothing but faint sounds of the mysterious forest where he found himself.

He brushed the snow from his clothes, his arms so cold that he could barely move them. He must've been unconscious for some time. Massaging his temple, he started to walk, intent on finding Harry. He was sure that Harry was somewhere nearby.

An hour later, Tom still had not found Harry. Nor had he seen any other human being in the place. There was nothing here but snow, rocks, and the white-topped evergreens that towered well over him. He sat on a boulder, resting his tired feet. While he walked, he had tried to find an explanation why he ended up here. He knew that there was a way to summon him; but if someone brave enough to risk the highly experimental spell did that, then Tom should have materialized where the spellcaster was. Clearly, something had gone seriously wrong and now he was in the middle of nowhere with Harry in… well, in some other place.

He tried not to think about the possibility that Harry could be dead, hoping that wherever he was, he was at least alive. Safety was another matter. It had occurred to him that the only people who would've done the spell would be the Death Eaters. If Harry was in their hands then his life could be in danger. He thought grimly of Lucius Malfoy and vowed that he would kill the bastard if he ever dared to lay a finger on Harry.

Tom licked his dry lips. He was thirsty. His stomach growled a moment later; and very, very hungry. He had tried to make food appear but his efforts failed earlier and he only got more and more frustrated after each try. He couldn't understand why it worked so well before. There was nothing to eat in this dead place. If he didn't find a way out then he could slowly starve—if he didn't freeze to death first.

* * *

"So you think someone else tried to perform the same spell?" Remus asked.

"I'm almost sure of it. Of course, it's also possible that our method simply backfired when we tried to take Tom along with Harry. But there's a greater chance that he's with the person or persons who called for him at the same time we did," Professor Dumbledore explained.

They sat in Dumbledore's office—the five adult wizards, one witch, and Harry who had just woken up from a long sleep under Madame Pomfrey's care. Previously, they had listened to Harry's brief telling of the events that occurred since he left. He had told them what he had seen and what Tom had revealed: Lucius Malfoy's abduction, the Death Eaters' torturous act of transforming Tom to their old Master, Tom transporting the two of them to his private world… all the details that could possibly help Dumbledore. But he kept what had transpired between them a secret; he wasn't sure if he could tell anyone about that yet.

They had been horrified at his description of Tom's transformation. Dumbledore had been more affected than the rest. Upon hearing of it, he had banged his fist on his desk. "Magnus. I had spared him years ago, believing that the old recluse was innocent of his brother's crimes. I should have killed him with Grindelwald."

Nobody had dared to reply. It was the first time they had seen Dumbledore lose control. Now, much later, they sat quietly as a group, mulling about everything Harry had said. Sirius was the first to break the silence.

"After all this time, I thought we were finally free of Voldemort. Now it seems as if we're destined to suffer again," he said grimly.

"No," Harry countered firmly. He looked at them one by one. "Tom would never side with them. He's different now."

"Harry," Professor McGonagall started gently. "We don't know him that well to tell. One could never know what's on his mind. For someone so young, he has suffered too much."

"He may be against being the Dark Lord right now. But who knows after they're through with him." Snape's eyes narrowed to slits as he stared at Harry. "The Death Eaters, or what's left of them, aren't a gentle bunch. Besides, you said it yourself; he has changed a lot since he was here last."

"But I know he won't," Harry insisted. "I know it. I can feel it." If only he could explain better.

"I would want nothing more than to comfort you, Harry," Dumbledore said. "Still, Tom Riddle is Voldemort. As much as he would like to deny it, he and the Dark Lord are one in spite of the years between them. The temptation to revert to his old self may be too much for him." He suddenly smiled. "But I don't think we should all give up. Tom is an intelligent young man, wise beyond his years. Someone so gifted must have the strength to change his convictions."

"Snakes don't change," Sirius muttered angrily.

"Would you kindly look at someone else while saying that," Snape snapped with narrowed eyes.

"We have to find him," Remus said simply, ignoring the two. "We have to take him away from the Death Eaters and give him a chance to live the way he wishes to. And while we do, I think we don't have any choice but to trust him."

* * *

Surprisingly, it was Ron who cried.

Harry entered his dorm room, expecting to find it empty as it usually was during Sunday afternoons. Instead, he found both Ron and Hermione inside, talking. They had stared at him, open-mouthed, for a full minute before they rushed at him with shouts of delight. Ron instantly burst into tears, blubbering something about dying while Hermione nearly smothered Harry with a hug.

"Where the hell have you been?" Ron exclaimed after quickly wiping his face on his jumper. "We've been worried sick about you!"

Harry smiled wanly. "I know. I'm so sorry, guys. I never meant for this to go this far. I should have told you before I left."

"Where did you go?" Hermione asked curiously. "Dumbledore wouldn't tell us anything last night except that he would try to get you back."

Harry sighed, "It's a long story."

They sat on his bed. And after making them swear that they wouldn't tell anyone, Harry told them what he had told Dumbledore and the others, including their failed attempt to retrieve Tom. They listened attentively to Harry's narrative, sometimes interrupting him with startled gasps. But after everything was said, both Hermione and Ron understood the seriousness of the situation.

"We should have known this would happen," Ron said grimly. "We shouldn't have let Tom Riddle wander freely. Now we're facing the same danger we thought we had erased after all those years."

"No," Harry objected softly, somewhat sadly. "It wasn't his fault. We should've protected him better. If we have to find someone to blame, it's Lucius Malfoy." He clenched his hand into a fist of anger, remembering how he had almost died under the elder Malfoy's wand.

Hermione squeezed his hand reassuringly, trying to make him relax. "I agree with you Harry. Tom had been given a chance for a fresh start. The Death Eaters are trying to take that freedom away from him." She turned to Ron urgently. "We have to do something. We can't just sit here without trying to help."

The redhead shrugged. "But what can we do? Do you suggest leaving Hogwarts to look for him?"

Harry sighed tiredly. "No. Dumbledore forbade us to do exactly that, as if he knew we would think of it. Remus and Snape have been given the task to look for him. Dumbledore is certain that he's somewhere in Eastern Europe but even he couldn't pin down the exact place. Malfoy and company might be keeping him prisoner there. They're keeping this hushed up, even from the Ministry. I don't think everyone in the Order knows."

"It would cause a worldwide panic if news of this leaks out," Hermione said. She took in Harry's exhausted form worriedly. "You should rest."

He shook his head. "I've slept enough. I'm just very concerned about all this, and I can't stop thinking of what they're doing to Tom."

"I don't really care about Riddle," Ron confessed. "But I do care about what happens to him. You guys were right. This is bigger than we first thought. Harry, you said you were able to sense Tom's pain the day before Christmas. Can you feel anything now?"

"That's the problem." Harry flinched. "I've been trying and trying to see if I could but there's nothing! I can't feel anything from him at all since last night!"

Hermione tapped her chin, thinking. "Maybe you don't have to try. Those flashes only came whenever Voldemort—Tom, in this case—felt extreme emotions. It might be better for you to wait."

"I know." Harry winced. "I just feel so useless! And guilty. He was right there with me. I should've been able to bring him along."

"I don't think that's exactly how the spell worked. From what you tell me, it seemed as if Dumbledore performed it twice. He would have had to retrieve Tom separately regardless of whether you were with him or not," she said.

"It's ironic that this happened during Christmas. I'm afraid you missed the holidays here," Ron added with a slight smile. "Not that it was a lot of fun. The highlight of the week was my argument with Draco Malfoy while I was looking for you."

"That's all right. I don't feel much like celebrating anyway," Harry replied. He flushed a little, remembering how he and Tom had spent Christmas. But the joy of the holiday had been tragically short-lived.

"At least you're back now. Hey!" Hermione suddenly remembered something. "We should tell Ginny you're all right. She was really worried about you."

"Extraordinarily worried, even for her," Ron noted. "I fed her some dumb alibi but I don't think she bought it. Hermione's right. If you don't want to sleep, we could go and look for her."

* * *

He balled his stiff fingers into fists, squeezing the sleeves of his robes shut as he wrapped his arms around him more tightly. He could see the steam rise from his lips with each breath coming quicker as the minutes ticked. He had been walking around for hours but he still had not found a way out of the woods. Darkness was now coming fast. He didn't relish the thought of the temperature dropping, as he knew it would as soon as night fell.

Tom leaned against the tree, resting his tired body for a while. He had to take a break, even for just a few minutes, or he wouldn't be strong enough to go on later.

Taking his fingers out of his sleeves, he whispered softly, "_Lumos_."

Instantly, blue flames appeared—suspended above his hands. He sighed at the feeling of warmth that helped relieve his chill. He brought the conjured fire as close to his face as he dared, wanting to absorb all the heat it emitted. The fire wouldn't last long; this one was already much weaker than the one he had made earlier. He could barely support his magic, and soon, he might not be able to perform even the simplest spells.

He sat on the ground, his back to the trunk. He was tired, very tired. Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a while…

* * *

_He was back in the school. He wandered through the empty halls, mystified with the silence. _Where was everyone?_ There were no students, teachers, or even any one of the many ghosts that lived in the castle. He didn't even hear the usual noise from the classrooms._

_Spooked, he ran down the stairs and went straight to the Great Hall, his footsteps echoing sharply. Even that busy room was empty and dusty with neglect. The whole school seemed to have been uninhabited for a long time. He looked up and saw a bare stone ceiling; gone were the charms that mirrored the outside sky perfectly. _

_"Professor Dumbledore!" he yelled. But no one answered._

_Dejected, he walked outside, expecting to see the courtyard to be just as deserted as the rest of the school. But it wasn't. Surprised, he stared, wide-eyed, at the numerous slabs of stone and marble that littered the courtyard. They rested on uneven ground, carelessly pitched atop the freshly turned mounds of earth._

Headstones! _Tom realized with horror._

_Near the fountain, he could see a tall figure with a shovel, patting the earth on the newest grave. Numbly, Tom approached him, hoping to get some questions answered. Avoiding the tombstones, he stared straight ahead. The digger was obviously done and was now admiring his handiwork. From this distance, Tom couldn't recognize him. But as soon as he was five feet away, the mysterious stranger turned and looked at him._

_"Congratulations. You have succeeded where I failed."_

_"Grindelwald!" Tom gasped in shock. "What is this? What have you done?"_

_The dark-haired man smiled in response. "Me? Nothing. This is all your doing. Or don't you remember?" he asked cunningly. He nodded toward the graves, "Isn't this what you wanted?"_

_"What? No! Tell me this isn't true," he demanded. _

_The Dark wizard laughed loudly. He leisurely rested the shovel on the ground and stared at the graves, seemingly amused. As if he didn't hear a word Tom had said, he continued, "All Muggle-borns, just as you wished. Even the half-breeds are dead." He turned back to Tom, eyes burning with intensity. "You have very capable men, Lord Voldemort."_

Tom raised his hands, aghast. They were pale—bone-white—and thin, the nails growing out of spidery, claw-like fingers.

_Grindelwald, or his ghost, swept his arm grandly over the graves as Tom watched with escalating dismay. _

_"No… no," Tom whispered, desperately wanting to believe that he was wrong, that what he saw before him was wrong. All he wished for was purity—a magic Utopia where there would be no want, no danger from the outside world. Or was it all a dream? He could barely remember. It had been so long… so long… _

_He dropped on his knees, wiping the marble stone before him until he could see his image reflected faintly on the white surface. Red slits that served for eyes stared back. He barely registered the flat reptilian nose and the cruel lipless mouth before the words on the headstone stole his attention._

_Harry James Potter._

_"NO!"_

* * *

"No!" He jerked himself awake. Slowly, reality took over the nightmare. His breathing calmed and Tom sighed with relief. It was just another dream.

Not that the real world was any better. Feeling the frost on his lashes, he tried to lift a hand so he could rub it off. He could barely perform that simple task since his limbs, even tucked close to his body, were stiff with the cold. _Damn_, he had not planned to sleep this long.

He tried to conjure another warming fire but the simple spell wouldn't work. He repeated _Lumos_, stronger this time, but the most he could produce were a few faint sparks that died in his shivering hands. He would give everything he had just to have a wand right now.

It was dark; night had fallen while he remained unconscious. Tom licked his dry lips, wondering if this was the end to everything about him. _The Wizarding World would rejoice_, he thought bitterly. _There would be no more danger of Voldemort's return_.

It was lonely here in the forest, but he vastly preferred this than living in a pleasant hell where there would be nothing but suspicion. It had been hard enough for them to reluctantly allow the young Voldemort to live—even that had taken all of Dumbledore's considerable influence and persuasion. But a young Voldemort with part of his old power might be a little too hard even for the most generous souls.

Long ago as a child, when Tom had first entered Hogwarts, he had felt so happy to leave the miserable Muggle world behind him. He had channeled all his energy to excellence, fueled by the hatred of his past and the alienation he received from his peers. He had wanted to live forever. Instead, he would die forgotten. Still, this was better. He had been a fool. There was nothing in the world for him anymore.

_But Harry would care_. The thought came suddenly, unbidden. _And Draco_.

Draco Malfoy. Tom had been trying not to think of him since he left Malfoy Manor with Harry. It pained him to suspect his friend of deceit, but he wouldn't know for sure until he talked to Draco himself. Only, now, it didn't seem like he'd have the chance. Someday, Harry would forget, and so would Draco.

_But there is a chance_, the same persistent voice whispered in his mind. _You can leave this place_.

He stared at his hands. His skin was pale, the tips of his fingers slightly blue. He realized with a start that he was right! Yes, there was a chance. He could still call for help. All that was left was for him to decide whether he _wanted_ to and if he could spare the strength for another spell.

It took only a moment to make his decision. He would let _them_ find him. He needed to live! And maybe afterwards, he could decide what to do.

Throwing his fate to chance, Tom summoned all his remaining energy for this final wandless spell. He grasped his wrist with a hand and uttered the word he thought he would never have to say.

"Morsmordre."

(tbc)


	15. Unanswered

Chasing Harry  
by Passo__

**Chapter 15: Unanswered**

_Harry, you mustn't reveal the truth to anyone. The public will know someday, but not now. It would be better to act while we can still do something about it._

He recalled Dumbledore's words as Ron and Hermione pulled him out of the room. Act now? But he couldn't even do anything about it! He was strictly ordered to remain in Hogwarts while Tom was missing. In spite of Harry's desire to find him—or do something to help… anything!—he himself didn't know where to start. Tom and even the Death Eaters could be anywhere in the world. He hated to admit it but maybe Hermione was right, maybe he needed to stay still while they waited for news from Remus and Snape.

_And how would we explain that the he's gone?_ Someone, it might've been Sirius, had asked back in Dumbledore's office.

It was Snape who gave the solution: _He's away with me, a trainee for the special study of exotic potions. That way, both of us won't be missed. The less we say, the better it would be for everyone._

Still, in spite of Dumbledore's insistence to keep Tom's absence a secret, Harry had already betrayed him by telling Hermione and Ron. But they were different; he could trust his friends.

Ginny, though, was another matter. He trusted her as he would a sister. But he couldn't bring himself to expose her to the dangers he and his two best friends might face. Who knew what they might be called to do after Remus and Snape found Tom? It had taken Ginny a long time to recover from the experience in the Chamber. Ron agreed with him they must keep this current dilemma from her.

"HARRY!"

He glanced up. Ginny was at the top of the staircase, staring down at him with delight. She rushed down and hugged him with relief as Hermione made her way down, grinning.

"Where have you been? I was so worried!" Ginny stepped away and looked at him expectantly.

"Erm… I was in Hogsmeade," Harry answered.

"You mean, you spent Christmas and New Year there? With whom?" She was starting to look confused. Ginny turned to her brother. "Didn't you say you looked for him in Hogsmeade?"

"What Harry meant to say was that he got lost on his way back from Hogsmeade," Ron blurted out.

Ginny's brows rose and looked at Ron skeptically. "I'm not sure I understand." She turned back to Harry. "You got lost in _Hogsmeade_ and it took you more than a week to get home?"

Hermione cut in smoothly, "Harry used the secret tunnel to Hogwarts on the way back. He got knocked out because of some spell gone wrong and woke up more than a week later." Ron gave her a relieved glance over Ginny's shoulder. "Luckily, almost no one knew about that passageway so Harry was unharmed."

Ginny nodded, "I see." She suddenly grinned and faced Harry. "That was some nap you took."

"Um, yes," Harry smiled back, ruffling his hair self-consciously. He should've made up an alibi earlier.

"There's something I've been wanting to show you." She linked her arm with Harry's and turned to Hermione and her brother. "Is it all right if I steal him for a while? We won't be long."

"Of course," Hermione replied. She watched the two Gryffindors walk away with a troubled frown.

Ron let out a sigh of relief. "Whew! That was close. It was stupid, what I said. Harry couldn't possibly get lost in Hogsmeade. Thanks for saving us there, Herm."

"Don't mention it." She glanced at Ron, still frowning. "Ginny has been acting a little strange, don't you think?"

"What do you mean?"

"I meant the way she seemed to attach herself to Harry." Hermione clicked her tongue thoughtfully. "It's not just now. I noticed it during the weeks before I left for the holidays, but I thought it was just a phase. You know… an extension of her former crush."

"Attached to Harry? But that was _ages_ ago!" Ron laughed. "She's had a lot of dates since then, not that I approve of course. She was just worried, Herm. Even if she complains about us hiding things from her all the time, you know how she gets paranoid about danger, always thinking the worst has happened to us."

"No, no. I know worry when I see it. I was worried and so were you. This one just might be a little different."

Ron frowned. "But with Harry? I don't think there's anything unusual w—"

"Oh, never mind," Hermione laughed, waving the topic away. She took Ron's hand and led him away to the nearest exit. "It's just this silly female intuition acting up. Come on, let's take a walk. We may as well enjoy the day."

Of course, she fully intended to keep her eyes open.

* * *

Ginny wasn't stupid. She sensed that Harry was hiding something from her and that Hermione and her brother were willing conspirators. It had not been the first time that they kept secrets from their other friends but this was different. She felt that there was more to Harry's brief absence than what met the eye, and she intended to find out what was going on. Besides, unlike Hermione, the boys were horrible liars.

But she wouldn't pressure him today. She would give him the space that she sensed he needed before asking. After all, she wanted the best for him and his well-being was more important to her than mere curiosity. She didn't doubt that he'd tell her. Haven't he showed her so many times—with his responses, his glances, and his ways—that he loved her?

Right now, he just needed cheering up. And a good stroll around the snowy Quidditch pitch might be exactly what'll do the trick. She squeezed his hand and happily thought that they could finally catch up with lost time.

* * *

Severus Snape's nose itched. He resisted the urge to scratch it as the skin on the tip was a dangerous shade of red and was already peeling. He shouldn't have left the Vaseline back in Hogwarts. Extremely cold weather was murder on his skin. He pulled his bonnet low and tried to make do with what he had.

He watched impatiently as Lupin questioned the rotund old man. The pair had been chatting along in some foreign language for the last five minutes with Lupin gesturing somewhere toward the mountains. In truth, they had been doing this for the past three days—Apparating cautiously in secluded areas of several small muggle towns, dressed as muggles, and questioning the locals about any suspicious signs that could possibly be the effects of magical activity. Or, rather, Lupin asked while Snape dithered in the background, scowling while holding his pack. They had zeroed into the area according to the reports of the Ministries of Magic of the surrounding countries who had recorded magical activity from a supposedly no-magic-allowed muggle territory.

Lupin had been chosen by Dumbledore to go as he was well acquainted with the region from his years of travel. Snape was chosen by Lupin. He was glad to go, but the werewolf's choice seemed strange to him, as they were barely civil with each other. Just the other day, he finally asked Lupin why and the man quietly replied that Snape at least cared for Tom Riddle's well being, which made him ideal as a search companion. Aside from this exchange and certain necessary conversations about the search, the two avoided talking—which was all right with Snape.

Three days… and they still weren't close to finding Tom Riddle. Snape shaded his eyes from the glare of sunlight reflected on the snow and stared at the peaks. If Tom were still up there, then they would be lucky to find him alive. No matter how powerful, a wand-less witch or wizard could only do so much as a muggle.

He suddenly sensed a change in Lupin's tone. Snape turned his attention back towards the conversation before him. Lupin was smiling widely as he thanked the man and gave his leave. He nodded to Snape and started to walk away. The two strolled along the snow-dusted street and entered their small rented room in an inn. Immediately, Lupin draped an illusory shield around them and coupled it with a silencing spell.

"I think this is it," Remus said excitedly. "Tom isn't far. He said they saw some strange colored sparks above the trees a few days ago."

"Not during the past two days?"

Remus shook his head. "Nothing suspicious for the past three days."

No signs of recent magic. Could anyone even survive that that long in the cold? "How far is it?" Snape grunted.

"Quite far. It looks closer than it really is. We'll have to hurry and sweep the area. If he's there, he might be unconscious."

"I hope we find him unconscious," Snape said grimly. "At least he'll be alive."

"And you mustn't lose hope so quickly," Remus chided him gently. He rummaged in his bag for a few seconds and handed Severus a small tube of moisturizer. He gestured pointedly at the other's nose. "Here. I thought you might need this before we go."

* * *

In the Slytherin dorms, Blaise Zabini jogged up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. It was dinnertime and he was coming to ask Draco if he wanted to join the rest of them in the Great Hall or if he just preferred to have the food brought to him like yesterday and the day before. The others were already on their way out of the common room. He hoped Draco would decide to end his self-imposed exile. It wasn't healthy to eat alone every night.

"Draco?" Blaise opened the door to the room he shared with his fellow sixth year Slytherins, expecting to find his friend inside. But it was empty.

Puzzled, he noticed that the room was unnaturally cold. Considering that the house-elves were usually thorough with their housekeeping, he couldn't imagine what made them forget to heat this room today.

Then he noticed the open window. A cold draft blew in through the unlatched shutters facing Draco Malfoy's perfectly made bed. The racing broom that normally leaned against his bedpost was gone, and so was Draco.

* * *

A couple of days later, only two people were inside a hotel room. They were sitting on a rug, facing the fireplace. The flames in the grate glowed green, framing Albus Dumbledore's somber face.

"Are you absolutely sure that you checked thoroughly?" Dumbledore asked for the third time that night.

"Yes, Albus. If Tom Riddle is alive, then he certainly isn't where we first located him," Remus answered. "It is possible that he has managed to find a way out of there. But where he went, I can't say. We've questioned the locals in the surrounding towns and no one had reported seeing anyone remotely like Tom."

"We can't stop looking for him," Dumbledore insisted. "The _Spiratio_ can't be performed on one individual more then three successive times. But wherever he is, he is certainly alive. He is far too important for anyone to kill him."

"There is one other thing…" Remus interrupted hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"There were tourists in the area around a day we performed the spell. They left just before Severus and I arrived. It could've been a coincidence but one description caught our attention."

Here, Snape took over. "One of the three men had _long light-blond hair_." He paused dramatically before adding, "and he had a cane with a snake's head. The girl from the inn had been very informative. It seemed that Lucius cut a striking figure among the locals. He also traveled with a man that closely resembles the description of Taylor Goyle. The third man's description was too vague, it seemed that he spent most of his time hidden indoors in the short time they were around."

"I see. Strange activities for tourists, staying very briefly and indoors most of the time." Dumbledore sighed after a moment. "It's an unusual time for coincidences because the timing coincides with young Malfoy's disappearance."

Snape's eyes widened. "Draco's disappeared?"

"He went out three days ago and never returned. He isn't at Malfoy Manor or in any of the family-owned residences around the world. From what you just reported, he may have been called by his father or chose to leave for reasons only he could know."

"Impossible!" Snape whispered. "Draco would never do anything like that. I know that he isn't in league with—"

"But he isn't around to prove it," Remus said gently, touching his arm. "I understand your loyalty to your student, Severus. But we can't be sure about everything that has happened lately. Remember, Draco Malfoy has chosen to keep silent about the events in his house and his actions could only be described as suspicious. That doesn't prove anything, of course, until we find out for sure whether he is involved or not."

The urge to defend his student swelled in his chest but Snape chose to remain silent. Lupin was right. It seemed that the work cut out for them only grew harder each day. Now they had two students to find.

"You two come home as soon as you can," Dumbledore instructed. "Where are you anyway?"

"Switzerland," Snape answered sullenly.

"Switzerland?" Bushy white eyebrows rose. "Why the detour?"

Remus smiled. "I needed to pick something up for Harry, a gift that might cheer him up. Good night, Albus. We'll be off tomorrow as soon as we get enough sleep."

"All right." The Headmaster of Hogwarts gave a wide yawn before smiling sleepily. "We've had so little rest the past few days. I'll see you then." In an instant, he disappeared along with the green flames.

* * *

_Lost time, that's what it is_, Ginny thought with dismay.

Harry had been back for a few days and she wasn't any closer to finding out the real reason for his holiday absence. She had tried asking him discreetly but he never explained anything or he almost always changed the topic soon after. Asking Ron was even worse: her older brother just clammed up and stammered that he needed to be somewhere else whenever she broached the question. And Hermione? The girl just stuck to the original story and advised her to ask Harry himself—which brought her exactly nowhere.

She wasn't eager to press Harry for details constantly. The last thing she wanted to be was a nag. But she sensed that he and the two were keeping something important and she was just tired of being kept in the dark for so long.

It would've been quite all right if that was the only thing about Harry that bothered her, but it wasn't!

They had spent most of their time together during the past week as Ron and Hermione seemed bent on making up for lost time by sticking with each other. Ginny accompanied him after classes and studied with him in the library when she could. She even stayed with Harry during Quidditch practice. Certainly, she couldn't complain about quality time. But even if Harry was with her physically, she sensed that he was never quite there!

His eyes would take on a faraway look every once in a while and he would lose the thread of conversation. Harry was never one to talk too much, but lately, he just stopped talking at all. Ginny found herself babbling more than a few times just to fill the silence when it became evident that Harry wasn't listening.

If she didn't know better, she'd say he looked sad, even hopeless sometimes. But that would be ridiculous. Harry was in Hogwarts with everyone he loved. Why would he be miserable? And what was the point on trying to show him how she cared when he never noticed anyway?

She tucked a lock of her long red hair behind her ear and stared at him unhappily. They were out on a Hogsmeade weekend and the two of them were sitting alone at one of the tables in The Three Broomsticks. They had arrived only a few minutes ago and already, Harry's mind was clearly somewhere else as he nodded absently with everything she said.

She took his hand, startling him out of his reverie. "Harry, is there something wrong?" Ginny asked with concern.

He seemed startled with her question. "Of course not. I'm all right." He bit his lip. "What made you ask?"

"Oh, I don't know… It just seems like you haven't been yourself since you came back. You're always distracted—staring off into space while we talk, or while _I_ talk. I just get the feeling that you're never really with me."

"I'm sorry." He patted her hand, smiling at her gently. "I guess I wasn't very good company. I've just been worried about my lessons. I should thank you… you've been very nice to me for the last few days. I promise to be more attentive from now on."

"Is that it? Harry, what really happened while you were gone?" she pressed.

He shifted uncomfortably. "I told you before. I got knocked out."

So he wanted to be stubborn. Maybe she needed to try another approach, a more direct one. She sidled closer, looking at him warmly. "Harry, do you love me?"

If he was startled with her previous question, this one really surprised him. He gaped at her for three whole seconds before suddenly breaking into laughter.

"Did I say something funny?" she asked, confused and a little bit miffed.

"No, no…" He shook his head, grinning. "Where did that come from?"

"I don't know." She shrugged. "You don't have to answer it if you don't want to."

"But of course I love you, Gin."

It was her turn to stare. "You do?"

"Yes. You're like a sister to me. You and your brothers are the closest I have to having a family. How could I not love you?"

"Oh." She looked down, deflated. A sister? It was a good answer, but not one she wanted to hear. "Thank you, Harry. It's a kind thing to say."

"You're welcome, but I wasn't being kind. I really mean it. But what ever made you ask that?" He raised his brows inquisitively. "It's quite sudden, coming from you."

"I just feel like you're hiding something from me, like you guys used to do before. Another secret."

He froze at the word. "Secrets? Don't be silly, Gin. If ever we decide to hide something from you, it'd be for a good reason, probably something that would mean life or death. Oh, look! Here's Herm and Ron!" he exclaimed (with a touch of relief, she thought).

Right on cue, Hermione set down several cold bottles of premium Butterbeer. She smiled at them widely, sitting between Ginny and Harry. Ron followed suit, taking the last remaining seat across her.

"What a surprise! I thought you two were still in Honeydukes. Mind if we join you?" he asked.

_Yes_. "No, of course not." Ginny smiled briefly at her brother.

"And what were you two talking about?" Hermione asked, shaking the snow out of her wavy hair. "You looked so serious that I just had to ask."

"Just some things," Harry answered vaguely. "Oh, Hermione, about our Potions assignment, the one Snape gave us just before he left, was it six feet of parchment or ten? I wasn't quite sure about the instructions but I thought I heard Dean say that it was six…"

Ginny tuned out. There wasn't anything interesting to listen to, anyway. She was living her younger years all over again—when she had been shut out of Harry's life no matter how hard she tried.

(tbc)


	16. The Riddle House

**Chasing Harry  
**by Passo

**Chapter 16: The Riddle House**

To the casual observer, the large mansion on the hill looked deserted. There was a neglected look over the whole place. During the summer, the expanse of land that surrounded the house would be overgrown with weeds that no one cared to trim. Any passerby would have only seen the high stone walls and the distant bricks peeking through the top of the trees. Now, it looked a lot statelier with snow coating the roofs and the ground that surrounded it.

The house's appearance clearly lived up to its local haunted reputation; there had been (as any of the village folks would be glad to attest) a number of mysterious deaths in the place. No doubt, the house was crawling with ghosts.

Since the death (or murder, as the local barman claims) of the old caretaker, the house had changed owners again. Merely a few knew this as neither the current owner nor his predecessor lived in town. Maybe it had something to do with taxes. And so it stands at present—uninhabited as always.

But, unknown to the townspeople, it wasn't vacant. In fact, there were quite a few people inside; they had been there for some days now. And, if one could just look through one of the high windows, the person would see an empty room, dusty with neglect. But what the eyes sees is not always true. For the room was far from empty. Beneath the illusion there is a young man, sitting on a plush armchair by the bed, while he watched someone else who appeared to be asleep.

The young blond man tapped his finger on the armrest as he looked on. He had come suddenly, against his father's wishes, when he received news that they had finally found Tom and that he was alive. He needed to see him with his own eyes to assure himself that he was safe. In a few minutes, the sleeping man appeared to stir.

"Are you all right?"

Tom glanced at the boy sitting beside him. Draco's back was facing the window and his face was bathed in shadows making it difficult for Tom to see his expression. He turned away and sat up lazily. "Shouldn't I be?"

"I was just wondering when you would wake. It's been three days."

Tom didn't reply. Instead, he checked his body. He was dressed in simple white pajamas under the thick sheets and a few portions of his legs and arms were bandaged. He glanced at Draco questioningly.

"You cut yourself a lot while walking around," the blond explained. "You also had a bad case of frostbite, but you're fine now. Father had to find a Healer who agreed to go all the way here. Of course, it was necessary to perform a mean Memory charm on the poor fool."

"Where exactly is here?" Tom asked softly.

"Your old house."

"My father's house? Ah... You did a good job of cleaning up," he remarked, looking around. Tom smiled humorlessly. "Yes, this was the Riddles' house. But it was never mine."

"It's yours now. Someone bought it for you, I think. It might have been Father. No one would think of coming here." Draco turned away and looked out the window to the deserted grounds below. "I came as soon as I was told that you were found."

"Am I supposed to thank you?" The young man on the bed started laughing, unable to help it. It was an empty sound, devoid of feeling. "I suppose I should, seeing as I would've died if _you people_ haven't picked me up from that cold hell where I came from."

"You know _they_ would do anything for you," Draco stated without emotion. He continued to stare outside, deep in thought.

He was tired of skirting around the issue. He didn't come all the way from Siberia—or wherever that place was—just to exchange social niceties with his former roommate. "Why did you do it?" Tom snapped tersely, interrupting the other boy's thoughts. "Why did you sell me to your father?"

Draco started. His eyes slid back to his friend on the bed. "I didn't," he said simply.

"It would be very uncomfortable for the both of us if you start lying right now," Tom said, staring at Draco coldly. "It was you who asked me to come to your house, not Lucius."

Draco sighed. He knew it would come to this. He hated the fact that he always seemed to end up caught in the middle of things, whether he wanted to or not. "I didn't come here to fight with you, Tom. Believe me or not, I came to see you. I have an idea what my father is up to but that's just it: an idea. I don't work with or for them." He paused for breath, waiting to see if Tom would speak. When he didn't, Draco continued, somewhat bitterly, "If my actions played to their plans, it was not what I intended."

Tom blinked. His face remained blank.

"I think my father and the others want to talk to you. You can ask them yourself."

"That would seem to be a good idea," Tom said helpfully. He made no sign to indicate whether he accepted Draco's explanation or not. He stood languidly. "Would you excuse me for a few minutes? I'm dying for a hot bath."

* * *

Exactly one hour and twenty minutes after he woke up, Tom heard the click of the knob as the last man left the formal dining room. He leaned back on the high-backed chair where he had sat for the past hour while he talked to the six men who had brought him here in this house.

_Alone at last_. A chuckle escaped his throat as he recalled, a tad incredulously, the intriguing conversation that had transpired. It had been his fault all along. Or, rather, it was Voldemort's fault. The old wizard had been cunning; he even managed to fool himself!

* * *

The story began many years ago, even before Harry Potter was born. Tom Marvolo Riddle, more famously (or infamously) known as Voldemort, had been at the full bloom of his powers. His dark influence was spreading among many countries and his right hand witches and wizards, the Death Eaters—the only people who had the privilege of speaking and meeting him in person—were in their element, ruling his far-flung empire through the many layers and ranks of men and women loyal to his cause.

But in spite of his archaic ideas when it came to the wizarding race, Voldemort was a forward-thinking man born in a modern world. He believed passionately in insurance of all forms—which was why, at such a young age, he had created his magical diary. He had high ambitions and he knew that at any time, there would always be someone plotting his death. Such was the fate of all beings who exposed themselves to controversy. His life-long search for immortality was a form of insurance against death and his transformation of his physical body throughout the years was another.

But there was one more, one that was not revealed to the world. Voldemort had to consider all options, and just in case (incredible though it may be) some young whelp did manage to kill him, physically and spiritually, he needed to have a back-up plan. This was where the diary came into the picture once more. Aside from serving as a frozen memory to incite the reawakening of the basilisk in Hogwarts, Voldemort knew that the diary could have further uses. One mustn't let such powerful magic go to waste.

There was a small chance of it happening, but, in the case of his death, the diary could pave a way to have himself reborn as Tom Riddle—sixteen years old, an age ripe to influence a new generation. If he could not keep himself alive in body, he could at least use his magic to absorb someone else's life force and resurrect himself—a smoother and surer form of what the muggles coarsely referred to as cloning. With this in mind, he gave secret written instructions to only one of his most trusted assistants, Alphonse Goyle, Gregory Goyle's grandfather, to keep the resurrected Tom Riddle within the Death Eaters' circle to ensure that he would have the same goals as before and that he would carry on the task that the original Voldemort had started.

Alphonse was to ensure that the new Dark Lord would be made as similar as possible to the original. And should Alphonse die, the legacy should be passed on the next loyal generation.

But Voldemort had not foreseen Harry Potter. Hence, he had taken little precaution to prevent his well-known body-less wandering for thirteen years. With this, he also failed to expect that the diary would befall a very different fate, and that the spirit of the young Tom Riddle would be released from it much earlier than scheduled. And so, things came to a head at the end of Harry Potter's fourth year—when Voldemort earned a new body, and unexpectedly, a new self inside his head. His insurance worked only too well.

The rest, as you all know, is history: Voldemort was killed, resulting in magical glitch that made Tom gain a body of his own. But there was just one other flaw in the whole game plan. The new Tom did not know of Voldemort's instructions to Alphonse years ago. Either the old Dark Wizard forgot all about it, or more likely, he resolved not to think about it while the sixteen-year-old version of himself lived within him. So in spite of Tom having access to all of Voldemort's thoughts, he had overlooked this tiny detail among the wealth of memories. And Taylor Goyle, acting completely on faith, took the news of the rebirth as a sign that the old contract should be followed to the letter.

* * *

_They were only following orders_. Tom shook his head, amazed.

He had come down from his room and started this meeting, prepared to rain his prodigious wrath upon the Death Eaters for causing him to undergo indescribable torture, also for endangering Harry's life in the process. But the revelation checked his temper and brought a change of atmosphere to the meeting. The proof was sitting right in front of him: the roll of parchment with Voldemort's—Tom's—distinctive handwriting, and the box containing the dagger they had found.

Goyle, Malfoy, Nott, Crabbe, Avery, and MacNair—only six left of the finest wizards and witches under Voldemort's command—had expected good news. It was only natural to think that the young lord would continue Voldemort's work. His whole life had prepared him for this mastership and in spite of the recent major injury to their organization, they could still pick up the threads of the old connections.

But Tom had disagreed.

"I'm not going to work that way," he had announced decisively.

Lucius was aghast. "What? But, my lord, you can't possibly have turned around completely after only a few months in that school!"

Taylor tried the diplomatic approach. "Begging your pardon, my lord. But do you think you would be happy living with them while leading a squeaky-clean life and going by the rules? What about your talent, your genius? It would be wasted among those fools who only value their secure mediocrity! What about your vision? You can't leave us now. You made us who we are, you made us believe in you! Don't throw it all away just because they made the pretense of accepting you."

Emboldened, Lucius continued the argument, "You were given another chance at life, another chance to continue your work. We had been devoted to you our whole lives. And what about the million others who are similarly faithful? Just because they believed you to be gone forever doesn't mean that their loyalty to you is lost. They don't believe in me or in any of us." He gestured to his fellow Death Eaters. "Without you we have nothing. They love only you! As soon as everyone knows that you're back, stronger than ever, your following would rise once more. It will take time, but it will be greater."

Avery finalized it with a grave statement, "Perhaps, this time, you would win, my lord."

"Yes, I have to admit that in the past, I had been very passionate with fulfilling my goal. But maybe I was too focused on the end results." There was a certain freedom in admitting the acts as his—a freedom from his months of denial, of memories that he tried to bury. It was time he grew up and take responsibility for his actions, even if they had been done literally a lifetime before.

He looked around. "I had wanted a certain kind of order to end the chaos that I believed to be prevalent. I wanted safety for our kind, a different attitude of governance that I felt the recent spate of leaders were unable to give. The Muggle world was perceived as a danger." He paused to take a breath. They would not like what he was going to say next. "But, as Voldemort, I had made grave mistakes with my methodology. Violence and fear isn't the way to effect long-lasting change. My presence here, I believe, is a chance to remedy that mistake. There is still a goal at the end, but the road I shall take to that goal shall be a very different one."

His decision was not an impulsive one. It was based heavily on newfound belief, and experience—he had spent years in Voldemort's head, had seen and felt like the travesty of a man that he had become. And he hated it. Even if it meant having to live another lifetime, he vowed to himself that he would never turn into a being he himself would loathe. Addiction to power could make even the smartest man lose sight of a lifelong vision.

Four Death Eaters gaped in amazement as they digested his words. Macnair, in particular, was having a hard time swallowing. Perhaps they were wise, or too afraid, not to oppose him. It was a hard fall from their previous hope of seeing the good old days restored.

Only Lucius forged foolishly on, "My lord, you are young. Perhaps after some time away from the influence of Dumbledore—"

Tom interrupted him softly, dangerously, "Do not make the mistake of assuming that my youth clouds my judgment. In many ways, I am still much older than you, Malfoy." They all shivered inwardly at the look in those eyes—eyes the color of aged wine; old familiar eyes on a young boy's face. They could not forget the power that it had held over them and others for many a day and night. With just a look, the Dark Lord had been able to command an army.

Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. "I understand the risks all of you undertook to follow my old orders. I am not one who forgets faithful service. Your loyalty shall be rewarded in time."

The smile disappeared, and he added, with a little sadness. "Although I regret to say this shall be the last meeting of this kind." Their strange fraternity, no matter how terrible it had seemed to others, could not be easily forgotten. He stood. "You can leave."

They filed out of the door one by one, still stunned, and not a little disappointed with the turn of events.

Not long after the last Death Eater closed the door, Draco burst into the dining room, grinning. "You called?"

Tom smiled in return, his sixteen-year-old self back. "Would you like to come back with me to Hogwarts tomorrow?"

"Do you even need to ask?" Joyfully, Draco rushed forward, taking Tom's outstretched hands. "So I gather that I'm forgiven?"

"What's to forgive? Also, I believe we owe each other a Christmas present."

"Of course. Only I'm afraid I left yours in school," Draco replied laughingly.

"And I left yours in _your_ house." Tom raised a brow. "But I can get you a new one. By the way, I sent the whole lot of them home. Do you mind spending another night in this gloomy house? I could use a friend to celebrate with."

"Not at all."

And with that, he picked up the piece of parchment that Goyle and Malfoy had found months ago—the same piece where Voldemort had written his orders—and tossed it to the fireplace. It wasn't needed anymore.

* * *

He waved his hand in the air; delighted with the way his control over his magic was progressing. He remembered what the late Headmaster Dippet had told him many years ago, when he was just about to enter Hogwarts as a young boy: _Magic isn't contained in a wand. It's merely a stick—a concentration channel to make things a lot easier for us. The real power lies inside_.

Tom was proving him right again and again tonight. The old china vase had been transfigured into a dozen other things and flown across the room many times since Tom started to practice. He had been at it for ten minutes now. Satisfied so far, Tom prepared for his last trick.

With his left hand, he opened the window without moving from his position. The vase, which was now a small model of a Galleon ship flew outside with his guidance and silently exploded into a thousand silver sparkles, finally melting into the night air within seconds. He was getting better—not as good as he would have wanted, but a lot better than before. Tired but happy, he locked the windows shut.

Draco clapped from the plush chair. "That was a good show. Impressive."

"Thank you. I should be able to do more with increased practice. And if I were more sober." Tom sat on the bed, giggling drunkenly. "Not having a wand takes so much more energy."

"I have your wand back in school. It's there when you need it."

Tom collapsed heavily on his back, fully dressed. He felt more than a little woozy. He and Draco had been celebrating the whole night with two bottles of wine that the blond had found in the cellar. Even Draco had to grudgingly agree that the muggle-made drinks weren't bad at all. His normally pale cheeks were now flushed from the alcohol, and he took one more swig from the bottle before rising jerkily from the chair. A red drop of wine stayed on his lip.

"So it's just the two of us tonight," Draco whispered, stopping before the figure of his friend on the bed.

"Yes. No troublesome Death Eaters to steal me away." Tom smiled blissfully, his eyes closed. With the wine's help, he was completely relaxed and he allowed his mind to wander. He imagined how Harry would look tomorrow when he surprised the boy with his return. He would be happy, of course. And they can continue where they left off—a prospect that was only too enticing for the dark-haired Slytherin.

He and Harry could have a very private reunion, now that he knew from Draco that the Gryffindor boy was back and safe in Hogwarts. He could almost imagine Harry beside him, naked with only his bewitching smile to dress him. He would start with the lips and travel his way down, and as if his daydream Harry heard his thoughts, he reached for Tom and enveloped him in his arms.

Suddenly, he was kissing Harry with all the heat and fervor that he could offer. He could almost feel his bare skin beneath his hands and he hugged him tighter, pulling him closer as his dream-Harry raised his luscious mouth away from his kiss and fumbled with the clasps of Tom's robe. Immediately, Tom pulled his head back down.

"Harry," he whispered roughly against his lips. He opened his eyes. And, just as suddenly as it had started, the dream kiss ended. He had expected to see no one beside him but was only too surprised to discover that he had not been dreaming. He had indeed been kissing someone. Only it wasn't Harry's soft green eyes that stared down at him but Draco's! And, to add to his shock, his own limbs were wrapped around the blond's very naked body.

"What the—" Tom tried to push him away. "Draco... stop it!"

Draco resisted, gripping the other's shoulders tightly. "Don't stop, please... I don't even care if you call me by his name," he mumbled, closing his eyes and trying to continue their interrupted kiss.

"No, wait, you don't understand." Tom pushed at him weakly. It was getting harder to resist temptation. After all, Harry was miles away and Draco was here—beautiful in his pale glory and very, very willing. His wine-dulled state of mind didn't help. A moment later, Draco made him gasp louder as the blond reached into the folds of Tom's robe. "Draco!"

"Mmm... delicious," Draco whispered, his pink tongue licking Tom's neck. "I've been wanting to do this for a very long time."

Only a fool would have stopped now. Or a eunuch. Even Tom didn't know where he got the strength to do what he did. But, somehow, he managed to pull his mind away from the growing situation between his legs and separated himself from a resisting Draco. "Draco, Draco... wait, please," he pleaded, breathing heavily as he pulled himself up from the bed, his lips still swollen from their violent kisses.

Draco finally stopped trying to force himself back on Tom and stepped back, staring at him with disbelieving eyes. "But... don't you understand? I'm giving myself to you freely. Can't you forget him even for just a few hours?" he asked desperately.

"I'm sorry. But I can't," Tom said with regret. He forced himself not to look down and concentrated on Draco's eyes. He touched his friend's face as he spoke, "I love you, Draco. But not that way."

At that moment, Draco wished the floor would swallow him up. Humiliated, he blushed an angry red, grabbed his clothes, and ran out of the room. The door slammed loudly behind him.

Tom listened to the fast fading footsteps outside the closed door. He sighed, a bit regretfully, and let himself collapse on the bed, face down. He knew exactly what he had turned down tonight and if only things had gone a little differently, Draco would have gotten what he wanted.

But things happened. Harry happened.

Still, he could have yielded. The reality of Draco's body pressing upon his had been highly promising. But he doubted if Harry would ever forgive him. And Tom didn't doubt that the Gryffindor would find out someday, in one way or another, and he didn't think he could take the consequences.

(tbc)

Please review! :)


	17. An Accidental Meeting

**Chasing Harry  
**by Passo

**Chapter 17: An Accidental Meeting **

Tom had not been surprised to find Draco gone from the house when he woke up. Last night's fiasco had effectively ended their short-lived truce. He glanced at the empty wine bottles on the floor and shook his head. Draco just needed some time to air out his anger, and Tom had the good sense to give him that for a while. Rejected sex never failed to trouble any relationship.

Now, how to get back to Hogwarts? He supposed he could go to The Leaky Cauldron first and send word to the school, but that would take longer as he didn't have a wand to call the Knight Bus. Still, there might be a quicker way to give Dumbledore a message. Pity he had been too smashed to do it last night when the owls were awake.

He looked around the rooms just recently vacated by the Death Eaters and found what he was searching for in one of them, something forgotten in their hurried packing: a small travel pot of floo powder. The presence of floo powder meant that the fireplace in the room was at least temporarily connected to the floo network. He held the pot in his hands with glee. He didn't need to go out of his way after all.

* * *

Harry stretched on the bed and looked out the window. It was mid-morning already and he had missed breakfast again. He groaned into his pillow. He didn't normally sleep in this late—even during Sundays—but his rest had been fitful. The disturbingly erotic dreams he had had last night might have had something to do with it. Usually, he'd be happy to have dirty dreams any night, but Tom didn't figure in his dream at all. For some reason, he had dreamt about fighting off the advances of a naked Draco!

He grimaced as he put on his glasses. Getting raped by the ferret even in his dreams could certainly qualify as a nightmare, even if said ferret looked alarmingly attractive without his clothes on.

"Good morning," a voice whispered seductively on his left.

Harry gasped, expecting to see his nightmare alive by his side. But his dread quickly turned to joy when he saw that it wasn't Draco at all. It was Tom—safe and sound and sitting on Ron's bed looking as good as when he had last seen him.

"You're back!" Harry exclaimed, launching himself off the bed and landing squarely above the Slytherin.

"And you finally woke up," the other said.

He pushed Tom away. "Where have you been? Everyone's been looking for you!"

"Not far. It's a long story."

"But are you sure you're okay?" Harry asked with concern.

"I am now." Tom grinned.

"How long have you been waiting here?" Harry asked, grinning as he adjusted his glasses, which had been skewed during their hug.

"Not long," Tom replied. His features softened. "I missed you." He embraced him.

The warm reality of Harry, the sheer sensation of being here, holding him—his hand against Harry's back—flooded him with a feeling that was more than relief, more than joy. He smelled of sleep, of cotton sheets and the unique naked scent of him that Tom had never been able to forget.

And even before Harry could react, Tom started kissing him passionately, rolling over so that Harry lay beneath him on Ron's bed.

Surprised but pleased, Harry responded enthusiastically. They could talk later, much later.

* * *

In a different part of Gryffindor Tower, another couple was engaged in their own form of amusement.

"You know, we really need to wake him up," Hermione gasped in between kisses.

"Let him sleep," Ron argued, not letting go, his lips traveling to her chest.

"Oh... but..." She was very tempted to give in; after all, they didn't often find themselves alone in the common room like this. And it felt so good to be held like this, to be kissed like this... until Ron hiked up her skirt. "Ron!" she shrieked.

"What?" he asked, alarmed.

"Not here in the common room," she whispered fiercely, blushing as she arranged her shirt as she found that she had been more exposed than she cared to be. "This is a public area. What would the others say if they see their Head Boy engaged in lewd acts?"

"They'd say the Head Girl is about to get extremely lucky," he joked, wiggling his eyebrows. Then he ran his hand through his short tousled hair. "It's just so hard to find a place where we could be alone. At this rate, we'd be virgins until we get married."

She poked his chest lightly. "Then maybe that's what we'll be," she said seriously.

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, horrified. "You can't possibly be serious! I'd be the oldest virgin the world." He tried to dispel dire visions of his friends laughing at his wedding.

"No, I will be. Remember, I'm six months older." Then she laughed, tossing her head with mirth. "Relax, I was just kidding. We can try again some other time."

"I'm not pressuring you." The last thing he wanted was to be an inconsiderate boyfriend. "You decide when you're ready. I can wait," he said, smiling innocently while praying to the gods that he won't have to wait too long.

"Oh, I want to, believe me. It's just hard to find to find a secure place, and we're always hardly alone." She kissed him on the forehead to placate him.

"Then maybe we should kick Harry off the room right now so we can get some privacy," Ron said grumpily, holding out a hand to Hermione and pulling her up with him.

"Is he alone there? I thought I heard someone else enter."

"I'm pretty sure he's alone. The others never go to the room at this hour. Come, let's wake him up."

Hermione hopped up the stairs lightly, leaving Ron behind her at the bottom. She faced the boys' room, turned the knob, stepped in, and was about to yell for Harry when she realized exactly what was going on before her. Her jaw fell as looked at Harry. All her experience and all the books in the world could not have prepared her for the sight that met her eyes. Sure, her friend's eyes were closed. But he wasn't sleeping, and neither was the all-too-familiar boy on top of him.

The sound of Ron's footsteps on the stairs brought her back to her senses. Thinking quickly, she closed the door and blocked it with her body. And she had done it not a moment too soon for as she turned her back to the door, she came face to face with Ron.

He looked at her, perplexed. "Is there something wrong? You're all red."

She opened her mouth and found herself unable to speak. She swallowed and tried to bring the image of Harry's blissful face from her mind. "I'm fine," she choked out.

"You looked really odd for a moment there," Ron commented. He reached for the knob behind her.

"NO!" Hermione pounced on him and pushed him from the door. A line of nervous sweat trickled from her forehead as she stared at Ron, wide-eyed. "You can't go in there!"

"Hermione, what _is_ the matter with you?"

"Um... I-it's Harry," she stammered. "He's dressing."

"That's all right. It won't bother him." Ron stepped around her and headed for the door.

Horrified, Hermione flung herself in front of him and gripped his arms. She couldn't possibly let him see Harry and Tom with all their appendages wrapped around each other—and on Ron's bed of all places! Her boyfriend could die of shock before her eyes.

"I know another place!" The words came out in a rush. "Somewhere more private."

"Where?" His hand was on the knob.

_Oh, please don't turn it_. "It's an unused room, at the far end of the South Hall way past the Ravenclaw dorms. No one ever goes there."

"How come you never told me about this before?" He looked suspicious, still holding onto the doorknob.

"I forgot," she said simply. She smiled, trying to reassure him. "Come on, it's not far. And it has a bed!"

"Really?" He seemed unconvinced. "It must be dusty if no one ever goes there. Don't you like my room?"

She swore silently at Ron for his stubbornness. "It's not. It's a guest room for those who visit the school and it's always kept clean. Trust me, I've been there." And she added, feeling risky, "If you agree, I'll let you do anything you want."

Ron's ears perked up at the word. "Anything?"

"_Anything_," Hermione pressed, smiling archly. She put her arms around his waist and kissed the tip of his nose. "You. Me. Alone. We'll have the whole day," she purred.

"Oh." He paused, letting it sink in. He pulled her toward the stairs eagerly. "Well, come on."

She laughed. "You go on ahead. I just need to, um, adjust my bra. I'll meet you by The Fat Lady."

And as soon as Ron was out of sight, Hermione pointed her wand on the door and cast a locking spell. It would be temporarily locked from anyone outside until it was opened from inside. She felt rather daring, and found herself excited at the prospect of spending the whole day with Ron on the guest room. She couldn't let Harry have all the fun.

What she had seen had surprised her immensely. But she also felt an uncharacteristic flash of... envy. And lust. Yes. She, Hermione Granger—the Ice Queen—was feeling incredibly horny for the first time in all her seventeen years.

"You owe me one, Harry," she said aloud. Then she ran down and out the common room. She hoped Ron was feeling energetic enough.

* * *

Ginny slid onto the wooden stool before the bar. The Hog's Head was almost empty. But then, who in their right mind would be drinking in a pub at Sunday noon?

Besides, this wasn't exactly a swinging place to begin with. It was a place where one could go to forget a few things—which was exactly what she wanted. She was furious with Harry, but more than that, she was angry with herself. How could she have let herself fall this far? Haven't she learned her lesson years ago?

"Oh look! It's Weasel's little sister," Draco Malfoy drawled from the right end of the bar, just two seats away from her. He was dressed oddly, in a brown monk-like robe with a hood that was pulled over his head. Rather drab compared to his usual attire.

She winced. Couldn't she just drink herself to a stupor in peace? Why, of all places, was Draco Malfoy here? "Leave me alone, Malfoy," she snapped. The two other patrons ignored them completely. Of course, they weren't even conscious.

She nervously pulled her cap down, hoping that the brim offered enough shadow to hide her face. At least her distinctive hair was hidden. It wouldn't do to have some unscrupulous wizard tattle to her father. She ordered a shot of gin. The bartender, who was at the other end of the bar, hardly looked from his copy of _Naughty Witches_ as he waved his wand toward the shelves of drinks behind him. A bottle of firewhiskey and a shot glass flew and landed right in front of her.

_Okay... wrong drink._ _Well_, she thought ironically, _at least this one's more potent_.

"What brings the Gryffindor's golden girl to this wonderful place?" Draco mumbled from her right. To her dismay, he had claimed the seat right beside her.

"Shut up, Malfoy," she said angrily before downing a shot of firewhiskey. Maybe if she ignored him long enough, he'd leave her alone.

He laughed deprecatingly, as he watched her force down another burning drink down her throat. He leaned closer. "Here, they don't ask for ID. In fact, no one gives a shit about you." His breath fanned her cheek. It smelled like hot alcohol and a not unpleasant scent of something else she couldn't identify. He was clearly very, very drunk.

Ginny turned to face him, their noses inches from each other. His skin was splotchy and there were dark rings around his bloodshot eyes. She suspected that he might have been here the whole night. "And what do you care if I'm here?"

He rested his elbow on the damp bar and looked at her intently. "You didn't get what you wanted last night, did you?" he asked lasciviously.

She turned away. "Fuck off."

"And how, pray tell, do I do that alone?"

"What?!" _Why was he still here?_ She was evidently feeling the effects of the drink. Even Draco Malfoy was starting to look good. God forbid.

He blinked his innocent grey eyes. "You know, fuck off. Will you help?"

And, for some unknown reason, this made her laugh.

* * *

A bottle of firewhiskey later—shared between the two of them—Ginny was sure that she must be drunk, or was very close to being one. She slammed the shot glass on the bar after she drank the last drops of liquid from the bottle. "I can't believe it! I lost again!" she giggled.

"We must have played every single drinking game I know," Draco guffawed. He signaled drunkenly and the bartender delivered a fresh bottle in front of them without looking up. He was used to kids like these. "I think we just missed lunch. Care to continue?"

She tossed her head theatrically. "I can take a lot more," she declared bravely.

"I like daring in a woman," he said flirtatiously.

"I thought you went the other way?" She raised a brow.

"I'm a true connoisseur. I go both ways." He spread his arms magnanimously. "There are too many ways to have fabulous sex in this world to devote oneself to a single type."

She snorted. "At last! I found someone who likes me along with everyone else," she said sarcastically. "And it turned out to be you."

"Why? You got dumped?" he asked baldly.

"I wish. It didn't even go that far." She refilled her glass. "I thought it would. You know, I thought we really had this connection."

"Who is it this time? The last guy I saw you with was Thomas."

"Who else? Everyone's favorite hero," she spat out. "Mr. Oh-Ginny-I-Love-You-Like-A-Sister."

He choked on his drink. "Potter? You wanted Potter?" he spluttered. Then, to her amazement, he started laughing. He laughed so hard that he nearly knocked their firewhiskey off the bar.

"Did I say something funny?" she asked, insulted. "Or am I not good enough for him?"

Draco banged his fist on the bar, still laughing. "Of course he wouldn't want you! He's too busy shagging Tom behind everyone's back!"

"Who?" She didn't catch the name.

"Tom. Tom Riddle. The former enemy turned new best friend."

Her hand froze on the way to the glass. "Are you sure this isn't just another wild rumor at school?"

"Do you doubt me? Tom was moaning his name like crazy last night. Why, he even had the nerve to push me aw—" And just as he prepared to launch into his own sob story, he noticed that Ginny was no longer on the stool.

"Ginny?" He looked around. But she was gone. The pub's door was still swaying from her exit.

He shrugged. _Too bad_. He could have used a listening board to rant to, even if it was Ginny Weasley. He reached for the firewhiskey. _At least she left the drink_.

(tbc)

**Author's Note:** After letting Draco down so badly in Chapter 16, I couldn't resist the urge to make him the star of this chapter. After all, he is pretty fantastic, even if Tom does prefer Harry. ::grin::

For this reason, this chappie has been my favorite so far. I'd love to hear what you think about this one. Please review!


	18. Back Home

**Chasing Harry  
**by Passo

**Chapter 18: Back Home **

"Shouldn't you go talk to the Headmaster? They're very worried about you."

"Dumbledore knows. He brought me back here," Tom explained. He was staring intently at the tousled mess of Harry's hair as his hand played circles around the other boy's nipple.

"Oh, of course." Harry just remembered: it was impossible to floo in or Apparate inside Hogwarts. Talking through the fireplaces was possible, but one can't travel through them here for security reasons. "I bet Snape wasn't pleased."

"Tell me about it. He even blamed me for the state of his nose."

Harry laughed, remembering the chapped, Vaseline-coated skin of the Potions teacher at the Great Hall during dinner yesterday. "Well, you did send him off on a wild goose chase."

"Not intentionally," he said defensively. "How was I to know that I was a walking fifty-year-old life insurance plan?"

"You could have fooled me. At least I got something good out of it: a whole box of the finest Swiss Chocolate Frogs. Remus took a detour through Switzerland after tracking you for days. I'm starting to feel like I have two godfathers and not just one. They seem intent on spoiling me."

"You can add me to that list."

They were relaxing after an exhausting but satisfying reunion. Tom had told Harry everything while he held the smaller boy tightly under the down comforters. He had given the teachers a summarized and edited version; he didn't want to implicate the remaining Death Eaters any more than he already had. He knew they wouldn't do anything rash while he was alive.

He liked holding Harry like this—hugging him tight with the Gryffindor's back to his. Tom kissed the top of Harry's head fondly, inhaling his scent. He couldn't get enough of him. "I really, really missed you."

Harry turned his head and met his eyes. "So did I. I hated the wait. I didn't know whether you were dead or alive. I couldn't bear the thought of thinking that you were—"

"Shh..." he silenced him. "It's over."

Harry turned to face him. He stared at Tom as gently rubbed his pale cheek. That he had suffered much was evident as much as he tried to belittle his ordeal. He had lost a lot of weight. But it didn't matter. He'd be safe from now on, and Harry wouldn't let anything happen to him as long as they were together.

"I had the oddest dream last night," Harry started suddenly, reminded of something. "I dreamt Draco was trying to get into my pants. Isn't that crazy?"

Tom started. "You dreamt that?"

"Yes. In fact, he didn't have any clothes on. It almost seemed real." He stopped as he noticed the guilty flush that appeared on Tom's cheeks. Harry's eyes narrowed as a germ of suspicion entered his mind. "It was _just_ a dream. Right, Tom? It didn't actually _happen_ in real life, did it?"

"Nothing happened. I swear!" Tom declared. "We were both drunk. He tried to do it but nothing happened."

Harry glared at him. "Do you mean to say that you managed to kick a panting and naked Malfoy off your bed? That's highly unlikely, knowing you."

"Months ago I wouldn't have."

"But?" Harry pressed.

"You know." Tom looked away, embarrassed. He wasn't good with this kind of things. "You came along." He paused uncomfortably.

"Good." Harry nodded, satisfied. "I believe you. The next time you want to get drunk alone with someone in a bedroom, ask me."

"That scar is going to be the death of me." He rolled his eyes.

Then realizing just what he said, he started laughing. An instant later, Harry joined him. Tom wrapped his arms around the Gryffindor as their laughter winded down. "So I take it that we're official?"

"Tom, we're under my sheets with no clothes on and I have no plans of letting you go for the next few hours. In fact, you're going to stay chained to me for the rest of the year. Maybe even next year." He winked. "And if you're lucky and I still want you, I'd add the year after that."

Tom blinked.

"That means yes, you fool."

"Only you could honestly call me that without being socked on the chin. Or cursed."

"I like the privilege. Wait, this isn't my..." Harry paused as if he just realized something. "Oh crap. We're on Ron's bed!"

That started another spate of laughing.

* * *

She didn't cry.

As soon as she heard the words off Draco's mouth, all she thought of was revenge. How could he? How could he steal him from her? He had no right to have him! Was he here when Harry was at his lowest? No. She cared for him, she nurtured him, she looked after him. With a little more time he would have learned to love her.

But he came along took Harry for himself!

It was early afternoon and she had just come back from Hogsmeade. And just as she walked to the school's entrance, she caught sight of Tom leaving the building along with Hermione.

"There's nothing to explain," Hermione was saying. "I understood your need for privacy."

Tom shook his head, embarrassed. "I should thank you. We've been careless, and it was my fault. I lost control for a while. If someone else walked in he or she would have reacted differently. But I'm grateful that you took it so calmly."

"Calmly?" She smiled mysteriously. "I don't think so. The two of you were rather inspiring."

Before he could ask her what she meant, Ginny suddenly appeared before him. She slapped him hard on the cheek as she gasped, "How could you?"

Surprised, Tom merely stared at her.

After the initial shock, Hermione tried to pull Ginny away. "Gin, you're drunk."

"Of course I'm drunk! That... that idiot just stole Harry away from me!" she shouted as she took an unsteady step backward.

"Ginny, not here, please." She tried to soothe the other girl in an attempt to calm her down. "Does Ron know about this?"

"I'm sorry," Tom said, stricken. "I didn't know..."

Ginny suddenly stopped beating her fists on his chest and just stared at him, her eyes brimming with tears. "Couldn't you tell?" she whispered sadly. And then, tearing herself away from Hermione, she ran inside the school, her hand over her mouth.

"Oh no," Hermione said, distressed. "I didn't know it would come to this."

"I thought they were just friends." Tom turned to her, visibly upset. "Harry didn't tell me they were together."

"They weren't," she said simply. "But that didn't stop her from loving him."

She sighed. "Maybe it wouldn't have hurt as much if she took the risk of telling him herself early on. It wouldn't have lasted so long then."

"Harry doesn't know?"

"No. You know Harry, he's not exactly sensitive when it comes to girls. Oh, this is all my fault." Hermione wrung her hands. "I knew and I did nothing."

"It isn't your fault," he murmured, taking her hand. "Where could she have run to?"

* * *

A door opened in the darkened room. Heavy drapes covered the wide windows and hid the last remaining sunlight. A lone figure lay on one of the beds, sprawled across the sheets like a broken doll.

"How did you get here?" she whispered dully. "I thought boys couldn't get into the girls' dorms through the stairs."

"I climbed the banister."

She looked away. "Please leave."

"I can't."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked quietly. She was spent. The tears had long dried from her cheeks. She couldn't possibly cry any more. All that was left was a hollow pain where previously, there was hope.

"I'm sorry." He sounded closer now. He was standing right beside her, and if she would only look, she would see just how sincere he was.

"Go away." She swallowed. Her voice was hoarse with her weeping. "Can't you see you're making it worse?"

He ignored her plea and, instead, sat beside her prone figure. Harry took the small hand into his own and held it tightly. She didn't even try to resist. She raised her head.

To her surprise, he held out his arms and smiled. "Come."

And, just like that, she complied. She climbed on his lap, into his arms, and wept like a little girl. She cried until his shoulder was soaked with her tears while he murmured soft unintelligible words to her ear. He patted her back awkwardly at first as he let her settle comfortably. They stayed that way for a long time, and he rocked her in his embrace while the sun set behind the drapes of the little room.

"Do you love him, Harry?" she dared to ask after a while.

He didn't even hesitate. "Yes. Yes I do."

She wiped her eyes with her sleeves and lifted her head, meeting his eyes. "I hope he knows how lucky he is."

He said nothing. He just smiled at her as he kissed her fingertips. "Will you be all right?"

"Yes, I'm sure I will. Not now, though." She laughed. "God... look at me! I'm such a mess. I didn't want you to see me like this."

"Someday you'll meet someone a lot more worthy than me," he told her. "Maybe you already did and just don't realize it."

"I doubt that."

"Oh, but I'm sure of it," he said confidently. He grinned at her in that beautiful, gentle way that broke her heart all over again. "I really do love you, Gin."

"I know," she answered. _Just in a very different way_. "Please tell him I'm sorry for hurting him," she said in a small voice.

"You can tell him later. For you, young lady, are walking to dinner with me."

She would do it for him. Maybe it could make things a little better. She just hoped she could bear the pain before it disappeared completely—but she had a feeling that it would be a long way off.

* * *

Later that night, Tom held the wand in his hand as he stood before Draco's study table. He didn't think anyone could miss a material thing as much as he did his wand. Of course, he was luckier than most. He could at least survive without one.

At that moment, Draco swaggered into the room, smelling like a foul mix of firewhiskey and everything else they had in the Hog's Head. He took one look at Tom and sniffed arrogantly. "You're here."

"What's with the outfit?" Tom blurted out, staring at the stained, ill-fitting robe. "I didn't know you owned that."

"I don't." Draco looked down. "I swapped clothes with a hag. Lost a drinking game."

"I took my wand from your desk. I hope you don't mind."

"No, it's yours." He waved the matter away. He then dug around his pockets and produced a beautifully wrapped package. "Here's your overdue present. I got you a different one. I figured you'd need this more if you're keen on getting it on with Potter."

"What the—" Tom couldn't help laughing as he held a large bottle of, "industrial size lubricant?"

"Always remember that lubricant is your friend," Draco said wisely. "And that's the best money can buy. The formula was made by Professor Snape himself."

He nearly fainted. "_Snape_ makes lubricant?"

"Don't you know? He has a whole line of beauty products under his name. It's his side-business apart from teaching. I even heard that they released a new kind of shampoo." Draco paused. "Though I'm not sure if he tests them himself."

Tom's eyes slid to the lubricant and he muttered, "I'd rather not think about it. And you better take that 'clothing' off you if you don't want Blaise to catch you dirtying his bed."

"With all this mess?" Draco looked at the pile of unmentionables strewn across the green comforter. "I doubt if he'd even notice."

"Seriously, Draco, you're drunk and you stink. Go take a shower," Tom ordered.

"You're so damn bossy," Draco sulked. "What did I ever see in you, Riddle?" He swept into the adjoining bathroom, still complaining loudly.

"So I take it I'm forgiven?" Tom yelled over the sound of rushing water.

"What's to forgive?" Draco yelled back. "Besides, how can I scare a new generation of Hufflepuffs without your help?"

"Probably got laid," Tom added more quietly, knowing that Draco would never hear him. He just hoped it wasn't the hag. He shook his head, musing. There would never be anyone else quite like Draco Malfoy.

* * *

"Sir, I hope you wouldn't mind answering a few questions."

Lucius looked appraisingly at the young wizard sitting across his desk. A young Auror, fresh from the Academy. The green ones were always the most eager.

"Regarding?" he asked coolly.

The young man fidgeted, uncomfortable with the atmosphere in the imposing room. His colleagues had warned him well: Malfoy was a cool customer. But he had not expected the man to exude an aura that was almost larger than life. He was, to make things short, greatly intimidated, and quite irresistibly drawn.

"Your son's sudden absence from school and your corresponding disappearance. Headmaster Dumbledore asked our department to look into it—"

"As you can see, I'm quite safe here in my office." He smiled enigmatically. "And my son just probably forgot that a weekend only lasts for two days. I'll ensure that he'll be present by tomorrow."

The Auror nodded. "I just need to ask some information about your whereabouts when—"

"In Africa," Lucius cut in. "I have kryptonite mines that needed overseeing."

"I see."

The door opened and a man who was even taller and similarly commanding as Malfoy entered. He nodded formally at the young officer before turning to the blond, "The train will be leaving in thirty minutes. We have to leave now or we'll never make it on time."

Lucius stood and offered his hand to the Auror. "Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to come. You can stay for a while. My secretary will attend to you in a few minutes. Now if you'll excuse me." He walked out of the door with Taylor and shut it behind them.

The Auror blinked at the sound of the door closing. He hoped that the crime Malfoy was accused of wasn't that serious because he doubted if they even had enough to make the case hold. That was one other description to add to the list: slippery. Very slippery.

* * *

Outside, the two wizards stopped beside a red BMW.

"How many of these Muggle contraptions do you have?" Taylor asked.

"In Britain? Three, I think," Lucius answered indifferently. He sighed as he checked the trunk. "Yes, the luggage is here. I really need this vacation. Thank you for setting it up."

"It's no problem. Do you think he meant what he said about dissolving the organization?"

"Maybe. But he might need us again in a few years. Why do we hold on to him?" He couldn't help asking, frustrated. It was a question that he had asked himself throughout the years but never really found an answer that came close to satisfying him.

"Do you think that we'd be here now—alive—without him?"

"How could I have forgotten? Although..." He suddenly smiled. "I do like calm periods. At least we aren't getting chased by the Ministry dogs all the time."

"Ministry dogs." Taylor Goyle shook his head, amused. "I suppose that's another way to put it."

In a few minutes, the bright red car left the driveway of the Malfoy estate. Perhaps, it was in search for another place to rest.

(tbc)

* * *

**Author's Note:** The phrase "lubricant is your friend" belongs to Xandria. It was on one of her LJ posts ages ago and it just jumped out at me. :D


	19. Epilogue

**Chasing Harry  
**by Passo

**Epilogue **

It was a beautiful day. The sun shone directly on the new painting on Dumbledore's office wall, lending a new cheer to the room. It was a close-up portrait of a young man, his hands held near to his face as he looked at them earnestly. Blue fire sprang magically from his fingertips, the flames flickering brightly as it lent a mysterious glow to the arresting face of the man who stood still even as the magic fire burned. From afar, the eyes seemed to be an odd shade of brown. But, upon coming closer, anyone would see that it was a surprising dark crimson—an unusual hue that tended to unsettle the virgin viewer.

"Thank you for the gift, Remus. You captured him perfectly," Dumbledore complimented the artist as they stood a few feet away from the work of art.

"Thank you, Albus. I couldn't help but make it. The first time he showed me how he conjured fire with his bare hands was an unforgettable experience."

"And he is an unforgettable individual."

They moved their attention away from the picture and on to the scene out of one of the office windows. Late spring had come and it was almost the end of the term. Soon, the students would start leaving to go home to their families. But for now, they were still in school—relishing their time in their second home. From their vantage point, a part of the Quidditch field could be seen and they could clearly discern the figure of Tom Riddle standing on the otherwise deserted Slytherin bleachers.

"Do you think he really did change?" Remus asked, apprehensive.

"What made you say that?"

"He seems more like his old self, more compelling, if you know what I mean. It's not hard to see how Voldemort managed to do all he did if he was this charismatic even as a young man."

Dumbledore nodded. "He was an extraordinary man. Evil, but extraordinary. In fact, he still is. I wouldn't be surprised if he grows up to be a very important person in our world."

"He let the other Death Eaters get away, though," Remus commented, still skeptical.

"It's his choice. He was the one hurt most in the process."

"But you trust him." The question was unspoken. But it was there: _Why?_

"He's not alone now." Dumbledore pointed. "Look."

Harry moved from behind a green banner that had previously blocked him from view. He reached out and held Tom's hand as the pair shared a brief kiss in the afternoon sun. The movement couldn't have been more natural than anything in the world, and they looked at each other as if they were oblivious to anything else, their robes whipping about them in the breeze. Even from this distance, they could sense the uncharacteristic gentleness with the way Tom touched Harry's cheek, as if he brushed away something that the wind had blown on his skin.

Remus had to look away. He sensed, somehow, that they might need a little privacy for the moment.

"That is the disparity between the old Voldemort and him. The way they feel about Harry Potter, and consequently other people in general, is as different as black and white."

Then the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen looked up at the blue sky and smiled wistfully.

(The End)

* * *

**Author's note: **

And here it ends. It's been a good year and a half since I started writing the first chapter of Chasing Harry. I hope you liked the ending. To be honest, I've been planning to kill Draco somewhere in the middle, have Lucius end up in a ward with Gilderoy Lockhart (to the distress of Cathy when I told her about it months ago while I was still writing chapter six), and leave Harry and Tom stranded on an icy cliff somewhere at the end. Apparently, the fic didn't agree with me, and instead, chose to end itself on its own terms. You're right, Sarah, it's rather odd: nobody dies. :D

Thank you very, very much for all the reviews, the feedback, and most importantly, for reading this fic. I only hope that you found it worthy of your time and that you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. Every one of you who has taken the time to tell me how you liked this has been an inspiration—especially during low and simply-bad-writer's-block days. Especially the folks over at HxT lightening—the community for whom this fic was written.

And much, much beta-love to the two people who have pored over this story with me: Djay and Sarah. I've been an erratic alpha, but you guys are wonderful. hugs

Please review! :D


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